UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


Class 


THE   PROSE  WORKS 


OF 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHETHER 


IN   THREE  VOLUMES 
VOLUME    I 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 
TALES  AND  SKETCHES 


BOSTON    AND    NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 
Wot  CUtoersH&e 


rr* 


now* 


Copyright,  1866, 
BY  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

Copyright,  1889, 

BY  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER,  AND 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

Copyright,  1892, 
BY  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Company. 


NOTE 

THE  intelligent  reader  of  the  following  record  cannot 
fail  to  notice  occasional  inaccuracies  in  respect  to  per 
sons,  places,  and  dates  ;  and,  as  a  matter  of  course,  will 
make  due  allowance  for  the  prevailing  prejudices  and 
errors  of  the  period  to  which  it  relates.  That  there  are 
passages  indicative  of  a  comparatively  recent  origin,  and 
calculated  to  cast  a  shade  of  doubt  over  the  entire  nar 
rative,  the  Editor  would  be  the  last  to  deny,  notwith 
standing  its  general  accordance  with  historical  verities 
and  probabilities.  Its  merit  consists  mainly  in  the  fact 
that  it  presents  a  tolerably  lifelike  picture  of  the  Past, 
and  introduces  us  familiarly  to  the  hearths  and  homes  of 
New  England  in  the  seventeenth  century. 

A  full  and  accurate  account  of  Secretary  Rawson  and 
his  family  is  about  to  be  published  by  his  descendants, 
to  which  the  reader  is  referred  who  wishes  to  know 
more  of  the  personages  who  figure  prominently  in  this 
Journal. 

1866. 


7092 


OFTHE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

MARGARET   SMITH'S   JOURNAL  IN   THE    PROV 
INCE  OF  MASSACHUSETTS  BAY,  1678-9    .        .      9 

TALES  AND  SKETCHES. 

MY  SUMMER  WITH  DR.  SINGLETARY:  A  FRAGMENT.  197 

THE  LITTLE  IRON  SOLDIER 251 

PASSACONAWAY     .       .       ._     •       .       .        .        .  258 

THE  OPIUM  EATER  . 278 

THE  PROSELYTES 305 

DAVID  MATSON 314 

THE  FISH  I  DIDN'T  CATCH 320 

YANKEE  GYPSIES 326 

THE  TRAINING 345 

THE  CITY  OF  A  DAY 351 

PATUCKET  FALLS 360 

FIRST  DAY  IN  LOWELL 868 

THE  LIGHTING  UP 376 

TAKING  COMFORT 381 

CHARMS  AND  FAIRY  FAITH 385 

MAGICIANS  AND  WITCH  FOLK 399 

THE  BEAUTIFUL 412 

THE  WORLD'S  END 419 

THE  HEROINE  OF  LONG  POINT  .                                .  428 


NOTE.  —The  etched  portrait  by  S.  A.  Schoff,  prefixed  to  this 
volume,'  was  executed  in  1885,  and  follows  a  photograph  taken 
by  Warren  about  1880. 


MARGARET   SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

IN    THE   PROVINCE    OF    MASSACHUSETTS    BAY. 

1678-9. 

BOSTON,  May  8,  1678. 

I  REMEMBER  I  did  promise  my  kind  Cousin 
Oliver  (whom  I  pray  God  to  have  always  iii  his 
keeping),  when  I  parted  with  him  nigh  unto  three 
months  ago,  at  mine  Uncle  Grmdall's,  that,  on 
coming  to  this  new  country,  I  would,  for  his  sake 
and  perusal,  keep  a  little  journal  of  whatsoever 
did  happen  both  unto  myself  and  unto  those  with 
whom  I  might  sojourn ;  as  also,  some  account  of 
the  country  and  its  marvels,  and  mine  own  cogita 
tions  thereon.  So  I  this  day  make  a  beginning  of 
the  same  ;  albeit,  as  my  cousin  well  knoweth,  not 
from  any  vanity  of  authorship,  or  because  of  any 
undue  confiding  in  my  poor  ability  to  edify  one 
justly  held  in  repute  among  the  learned,  but  be 
cause  my  heart  tells  me  that  what  I  write,  be  it 
ever  so  faulty,  will  be  read  by  the  partial  eye  of 
my  kinsman,  and  not  with  the  critical  observance 
of  the  scholar,  and  that  his  love  will  not  find  it  dif 
ficult  to  excuse  what  offends  his  clerkly  judgment. 
And,  to  embolden  me  withal,  I  will  never  forget 
that  I  am  writing  for  mine  old  playmate  at  hide- 
and-seek  in  the  farm-house  at  Hilton,  —  the  same 
who  used  to  hunt  after  flowers  for  me  in  the 


10  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

spring,  and  who  did  fill  my  apron  with  hazel-nuts 
in  the  autumn,  and  who  was  then,  I  fear,  little 
wiser  than  his  still  foolish  cousin,  who,  if  she  hath 
not  since  learned  so  many  new  things  as  himself, 
hath  perhaps  remembered  more  of  the  old.  There 
fore,  without  other  preface,  I  will  begin  my  recordo 
Of  my  voyage  out  I  need  not  write,  as  I  have 
spoken  of  it  in  my  letters  already,  and  it  greatly 
irks  me  to  think  of  it.  Oh,  a  very  long,  dismal 
time  of  sickness  and  great  discomforts,  and  many 
sad  thoughts  of  all  I  had  left  behind,  and  fears  of 
all  I  was  going  to  meet  in  the  New  England  !  I 
can  liken  it  only  to  an  ugly  dream.  When  we  got 
at  last  to  Boston,  the  sight  of  the  land  and  trees, 
albeit  they  were  exceeding  bleak  and  bare  (it  being 
a  late  season,  and  nipping  cold),  was  like  unto  a 
vision  of  a  better  world.  As  we  passed  the  small 
wooded  islands,  which  make  the  bay  very  pleasant, 
and  entered  close  upon  the  town,  and  saw  the 
houses,  and  orchards,  and  meadows,  and  the  hills 
beyond  covered  with  a  great  growth  of  wood,  my 
brother,  lifting  up  both  of  his  hands,  cried  out, 
"  How  goodly  are  thy  tents,  O  Jacob,  and  thy 
habitations,  0  Israel!"  and  for  my  part  I  did 
weep  for  joy  and  thankfulness  of  heart,  that  God 
had  brought  us  safely  to  so  fair  a  haven.  Uncle 
and  Aunt  Rawson  met  us  on  the  wharf,  and  made 
us  very  comfortable  at  their  house,  which  is  about 
half  a  mile  from  the  water-side,  at  the  foot  of  a 
hill,  with  an  oaken  forest  behind  it,  to  shelter  it 
from  the  north  wind,  which  is  here  very  piercing. 
Uncle  is  Secretary  of  the  Massachusetts,  and 
spends  a  great  part  of  his  time  in  town ;  and  his 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          11 

wife  and  family  are  with  him  in  the  winter  season, 
but  they  spend  their  summers  at  his  plantation  on 
the  Merrimac  River,  in  Newbury.  His  daughter, 
Rebecca,  is  just  about  my  age,  very  tall  and  lady- 
looking  ;  she  is  like  her  brother  John,  who  was  at 
Uncle  Hilton's  last  year.  She  hath,  moreover,  a 
pleasant  wit,  and  hath  seen  much  goodly  company, 
being  greatly  admired  by  the  young  men  of  family 
and  distinction  in  the  Province.  She  hath  been 
very  kind  to  me,  telling  me  that  she  looked  upon 
me  as  a  sister.  I  have  been  courteously  enter 
tained,  moreover,  by  many  of  the  principal  people, 
both  of  the  reverend  clergy  and  the  magistracy. 
Nor  must  I  forbear  to  mention  a  visit  which  I  paid 
with  Uncle  and  Aunt  Rawson  at  the  house  of  an 
aged  magistrate  of  high  esteem  and  influence  in 
these  parts.  He  saluted  me  courteously,  and  made 
inquiries  concerning  our  family,  and  whether  I 
had  been  admitted  into  the  Church.  On  my  tell 
ing  him  that  I  had  not,  he  knit  his  brows,  and 
looked  at  me  very  sternly. 

"  Mr.  Rawson,"  said  he,  "  your  niece,  I  fear  me, 
has  much  more  need  of  spiritual  adorning  than  of 
such  gewgaws  as  these,"  and  took  hold  of  my  lace 
ruff  so  hard  that  I  heard  the  stitches  break ;  and 
then  he  pulled  out  my  sleeves,  to  see  how  wide 
they  were,  though  they  were  only  half  an  ell. 
Madam  ventured  to  speak  a  word  to  encourage  me, 
for  she  saw  I  was  much  abashed  and  flustered,  yet 
he  did  not  heed  her,  but  went  on  talking  very  loud 
against  the  folly  and  the  wasteful  wantonness  of 
the  times.  Poor  Madam  is  a  quiet,  sickly-looking 
woman,  and  seems  not  a  little  in  awe  of  her  hus- 


12          MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

band,  at  the  which  I  do  not  marvel,  for  he  hath  a 
very  impatient,  forbidding  way  with  him,  and,  I 
must  say,  seemed  to  carry  himself  harshly  at  times 
towards  her.  Uncle  Rawson  says  he  has  had 
much  to  try  his  temper ;  that  there  have  been  many 
and  sore  difficulties  in  Church  as  well  as  State ; 
and  he  hath  bitter  enemies,  in.  some  of  the  mem 
bers  of  the  General  Court,  who  count  him  too 
severe  with  the  Quakers  and  other  disturbers  and 
ranters.  I  told  him  it  was  no  doubt  true  ;  but 
that  I  thought  it  a  bad  use  of  the  Lord's  chasten- 
ings  to  abuse  one's  best  friends  for  the  wrongs 
done  by  enemies ;  and,  that  to  be  made  to  atone 
for  what  went  ill  in  Church  or  State,  was  a  kind 
of  vicarious  suffering  that,  if  I  was  in  Madam's 
place,  I  should  not  bear  with  half  her  patience  and 
sweetness. 

IPSWICH,  near  Ag-awam,  May  12. 

We  set  out  day  before  yesterday  on  our  journey 
to  Newbury.  There  were  eight  of  us,  —  Rebecca 
Rawson  and  her  sister,  Thomas  Broughton,  his 
wife,  and  their  man-servant,  my  brother  Leonard 
and  myself,  and  young  Robert  Pike,  of  Newbury, 
who  had  been  to  Boston  on  business,  his  father 
having  great  fisheries  in  the  river  as  well  as  the 
sea.  He  is,  I  can  perceive,  a  great  admirer  of  my 
cousin,  and  indeed  not  without  reason  ;  for  she 
hath  in  mind  and  person,  in  her  graceful  carriage 
and  pleasant  discourse,  and  a  certain  not  unpleas- 
ing  waywardness,  as  of  a  merry  child,  that  which 
makes  her  company  sought  of  all.  Our  route  the 
first  day  lay  through  the  woods  and  along  the  bor- 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL  13 

ders  of  great  marshes  and  meadows  on  the  sea 
shore.  We  came  to  Linne  at  night,  and  stopped 
at  the  house  of  a  kinsman  of  Kobert  Pike's,  —  a 
man  of  some  substance  and  note  in  that  settle 
ment.  We  were  tired  and  hungry,  and  the  supper 
of  warm  Indian  bread  and  sweet  milk  relished 
quite  as  well  as  any  I  ever  ate  in  the  Old  Country. 
The  next  day  we  went  on  over  a  rough  road  to 
Wenham,  through  Salem,  which  is  quite  a  pleasant 
town.  Here  we  stopped  until  this  morning,  when 
we  again  mounted  our  horses,  and  reached  this 
place,  after  a  smart  ride  of  three  hours.  The 
weather  in  the  morning  was  warm  and  soft  as  our 
summer  days  at  home ;  and,  as  we  rode  through 
the  woods,  where  the  young  leaves  were  fluttering, 
and  the  white  blossoms  of  the  wind-flowers,  and 
the  blue  violets  and  the  yellow  blooming  of  the 
cowslips  in  the  low  grounds,  were  seen  on  either 
hand,  and  the  birds  all  the  time  making  a  great 
and  pleasing  melody  in  the  branches,  I  was  glad 
of  heart  as  a  child,  and  thought  if  my  beloved 
friends  and  Cousin  Oliver  were  only  with  us,  I 
could  never  wish  to  leave  so  fair  a  country. 

Just  before  we  reached  Agawam,  as  I  was  rid 
ing  a  little  before  my  companions,  I  was  startled 
greatly  by  the  sight  of  an  Indian.  He  was  stand 
ing  close  to  the  bridle-path,  his  half -naked  body 
partly  hidden  by  a  clump  of  white  birches,  through 
which  he  looked  out  on  me  with  eyes  like  two  live 
coals.  I  cried  for  my  brother  and  turned  my 
horse,  when  Robert  Pike  came  up  and  bid  me  be 
of  cheer,  for  he  knew  the  savage,  and  that  he  was 
friendly.  Whereupon,  he  bade  him  come  out  of 


14  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

the  bushes,  which  he  did,  after  a  little  parley.  He 
was  a  tall  man,  of  very  fair  and  comely  make,  and 
wore  a  red  woollen  blanket  with  beads  and  small 
clam-shells  jingling  about  it.  His  skin  was  swar 
thy,  not  black  like  a  Moor  or  Guinea-man,  but  of 
a  color  not  unlike  that  of  tarnished  copper  coin. 
He  spake  but  little,  and  that  in  his  own  tongue, 
very  harsh  and  strange-sounding  to  my  ear.  Rob 
ert  Pike  tells  me  that  he  is  Chief  of  the  Aga- 
wams,  once  a  great  nation  in  these  parts,  but  now 
quite  small  and  broken.  As  we  rode  on,  and  from 
the  top  of  a  hill  got  a  fair  view  of  the  great  sea  off 
at  the  east,  Robert  Pike  bade  me  notice  a  little 
bay,  around  which  I  could  see  four  or  five  small, 
peaked  huts  or  tents,  standing  just  where  the  white 
sands  of  the  beach  met  the  green  line  of  grass  and 
bushes  of  the  uplands. 

"  There,"  said  he,  "  are  their  summer-houses, 
which  they  build  near  unto  their  fishing-grounds 
and  corn-fields.  In  the  winter  they  go  far  back 
into  the  wilderness,  where  game  is  plenty  of  all 
kinds,  and  there  build  their  wigwams  in  warm  val 
leys  thick  with  trees,  which  do  serve  to  shelter 
them  from  the  winds." 

"  Let  us  look  into  them,"  said  I  to  Cousin  Re 
becca  ;  "  it  seems  but  a  stone's  throw  from  our 
way." 

She  tried  to  dissuade  me,  by  calling  them  a 
dirty,  foul  people  ;  but  seeing  I  was  not  to  be  put 
off,  she  at  last  consented,  and  we  rode  aside  down 
the  hill,  the  rest  following.  On  our  way  we  had 
the  misfortune  to  ride  over  their  corn-field ;  at  the 
which,  two  or  three  women  and  as  many  boys  set 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          15 

up  a  yell  very  hideous  to  hear ;  whereat  Robert 
Pike  came  up,  and  appeased  them  by  giving  them 
some  money  and  a- drink  of  Jamaica  spirits,  with 
which  they  seemed  vastly  pleased.  I  looked  into 
one  of  their  huts ;  it  was  made  of  poles  like  unto  a 
tent,  only  it  was  covered  with  the  silver-colored 
bark  of  the  birch,  instead  of  hempen  stuff.  A 
bark  mat,  braided  of  many  exceeding  brilliant  col 
ors,  covered  a  goodly  part  of  the  space  inside ;  and 
from  the  poles  we  saw  fishes  hanging,  and  strips 
of  dried  meat.  On  a  pile  of  skins  in  the  corner 
sat  a  young  woman  with  a  child  a-nursing  ;  they 
both  looked  sadly  wild  and  neglected  ;  yet  had  she 
withal  a  pleasant  face,  and  as  she  bent  over  her  lit 
tle  one,  her  long,  straight,  and  black  hair  falling 
over  him,  and  murmuring  a  low  and  very  plaintive 
melody,  I  forgot  everything  save  that  she  was  a 
woman  and  a  mother,  and  I  felt  my  heart  greatly 
drawn  towards  her.  So,  giving  my  horse  in  charge, 
I  ventured  in  to  her,  speaking  as  kindly  as  I  could, 
and  asking  to  see  her  child.  She  understood  me, 
and  with  a  smile  held  up  her  little  papoose,  as  she 
called  him,  —  who,  to  say  truth,  I  could  not  call 
very  pretty.  He  seemed  to  have  a  wild,  shy  look, 
like  the  offspring  of  an  untamed  animal.  The 
woman  wore  a  blanket,  gaudily  fringed,  and  she 
had  a  string  of  beads  on  her  neck.  She  took 
down  a  basket,  woven  of  white  and  red  willows, 
and  pressed  me  to  taste  of  her  bread  ;  which  I  did, 
that  I  might  not  offend  her  courtesy  by  refusing. 
It  was  not  of  ill  taste,  although  so  hard  one  could 
scarcely  bite  it,  and  was  made  of  corn  meal  un 
leavened,  mixed  with  a  dried  berry,  which  gives  it 


16  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

a  sweet  flavor.  She  told  me,  in  her  broken  way, 
that  the  whole  tribe  now  numbered  only  twenty- 
five  men  and  women,  counting  out  the  number 
very  fast  with  yellow  grains  of  corn,  on  the  corner 
of  her  blanket.  She  was,  she  said,  the  youngest 
woman  in  the  tribe  ;  and  her  husband,  Peckana- 
minet,  was  the  Indian  we  had  met  in  the  bridle 
path.  I  gave  her  a  pretty  piece  of  ribbon,  and  an 
apron  for  the  child  ;  and  she  thanked  me  in  her 
manner,  going  with  us  on  our  return  to  the  path  ; 
and  when  I  had  ridden  a  little  onward,  I  saw  her 
husband  running  towards  us ;  so,  stopping  my 
horse,  I  awaited  until  he  came  up,  when  he  offered 
me  a  fine  large  fish,  which  he  had  just  caught,  in 
acknowledgment,  as  I  judged,  of  my  gift  to  his 
wife.  Rebecca  and  Mistress  Broughton  laughed, 
and  bid  him  take  the  thing  away ;  but  I  would  not 
suffer  it,  and  so  Robert  Pike  took  it,  and  brought 
it  on  to  our  present  tarrying  place,  where  truly  it 
hath  made  a  fair  supper  for  us  all.  These  poor 
heathen  people  seem  not  so  exceeding  bad  as  they 
have  been  reported  ;  they  be  like  unto  ourselves, 
only  lacking  our  knowledge  and  opportunities, 
which,  indeed,  are  not  our  own  to  boast  of,  but 
gifts  of  God,  calling  for  humble  thankfulness,  and 
daily  prayer  and  watchfulness,  that  they  be  rightly 
improved. 

NEWBURY  on  the  Merrimac,  May  14,  1678. 

We  were  hardly  on  our  way  yesterday,  from 
Agawam,  when  a  dashing  young  gallant  rode  up 
very  fast  behind  us.  He  was  fairly  clad  in  rich 
stuffs,  and  rode  a  nag  of  good  mettle.  He  saluted 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL  17 

us  with  much  ease  and  courtliness,  offering  espe 
cial  compliments  to  Rebecca,  to  whom  he  seemed 
well  known,  and  wl;o  I  thought  was  both  glad  and 
surprised  at  his  coming.  As  I  rode  near,  she  said 
it  gave  her  great  joy  to  bring  to  each  other's  ac 
quaintance,  Sir  Thomas  Hale,  a  good  friend  of  her 
father's,  and  her  cousin  Margaret,  who,  like  him 
self,  was  a  new-comer.  He  replied,  that  he  should 
look  with  favor  on  any  one  who  was  near  to  her  in 
friendship  or  kindred  ;  and,  on  learning  my  fa 
ther's  name,  said  he  had  seen  him  at  his  uncle's, 
Sir  Matthew  Hale's,  many  years  ago,  and  could 
vouch  for  him  as  a  worthy  man.  After  some 
pleasant  and  merry  discoursing  with  us,  he  and  my 
brother  fell  into  converse  upon  the  state  of  affairs 
in  the  Colony,  the  late  lamentable  war  with  the 
Narragansett  and  Pequod  Indians,  together  with 
the  growth  of  heresy  and  schism  in  the  churches, 
which  latter  he  did  not  scruple  to  charge  upon  the 
wicked  policy  of  the  home  government  in  checking 
the  wholesome  severity  of  the  laws  here  enacted 
against  the  schemers  and  ranters.  u  I  quite  agree," 
said  he,  "  with  Mr.  Rawson,  that  they  should  have 
hanged  ten  where  they  did  one."  Cousin  Rebecca 
here  said  she  was  sure  her  father  was  now  glad 
the  laws  were  changed,  and  that  he  had  often  told 
her  that,  although  the  condemned  deserved  their 
punishment,  he  was  not  sure  that  it  was  the  best 
way  to  put  down  the  heresy.  If  she  was  ruler, 
she  continued,  in  her  merry  way,  she  would  send 
all  the  schemers  and  ranters,  and  all  the  sour, 
crabbed,  busybodies  in  the  churches,  off  to  Rhode 
Island,  where  all  kinds  of  folly,  in  spirituals  as 


18          MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

well  as  temporals,  were  permitted,  and  one  crazy 
head  could  not  reproach  another. 

Falling  back  a  little,  and  waiting  for  Robert 
Pike  and  Cousin  Broughton  to  come  up,  I  found 
them  marvelling  at  the  coming  of  the  young  gen° 
tleman,  who  it  did  seem  had  no  special  concern 
ment  in  these  parts,  other  than  his  acquaintance 
with  Rebecca,  and  his  desire  of  her  company. 
Robert  Pike,  as  is  natural,  looks  upon  him  with  no 
great  partiality,  yet  he  doth  admit  him  to  be  well- 
bred,  and  of  much  and  varied  knowledge,  acquired 
by  far  travel  as  well  as  study.  I  must  say,  I  like 
not  his  confident  and  bold  manner  and  bearing  to 
ward  my  fair  cousin ;  and  he  hath  more  the  like 
ness  of  a  cast-off  dangler  at  the  court,  than  of  a 
modest  and  seemly  country  gentleman,  of  a  staid 
and  well-ordered  house.  Mistress  Broughton  says 
he  was  not  at  first  accredited  in  Boston,  but  that 
her  father,  and  Mr.  Atkinson,  and  the  chief  people 
there  now,  did  hold  him  to  be  not  only  what  he 
professeth,  as  respecteth  his  gentlemanly  lineage, 
but  also  learned  and  ingenious,  and  well-versed  in 
the  Scriptures,  and  the  works  of  godly  writers, 
both  of  ancient  and  modern  time.  I  noted  that 
Robert  was  very  silent  during  the  rest  of  our  jour 
ney,  and  seemed  abashed  and  troubled  in  the  pres 
ence  of  the  gay  gentleman  ;  for,  although  a  fair 
and  comely  youth,  and  of  good  family  and  estate, 
and  accounted  solid  and  judicious  beyond  his 
years,  he  does,  nevertheless,  much  lack  the  ease 
and  ready  wit  with  which  the  latter  commendeth 
himself  to  my  sweet  kinswoman. 

We  crossed  about  noon  a  broad   stream  near  to 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          19 

the  sea,  very  deep  and  miry,  so  that  we  wetted  our 
hose  and  skirts  somewhat ;  and  soon,  to  our  great 
joy,  beheld  the  pleasant  cleared  fields  and  dwell 
ings  of  the  settlement,  stretching  along  for  a  goodly 
distance ;  while,  beyond  all,  the  great  ocean  rolled, 
blue  and  cold,  under  an  high  easterly  wind.  Pass 
ing  through  a  broad  path,  with  well-tilled  fields  on 
each  hand,  where  men  were  busy  planting  corn, 
and  young  maids  dropping  the  seed,  we  came  at 
length  to  Uncle  Rawson's  plantation,  looking  well- 
nigh  as  fair  and  broad  as  the  lands  of  Hilton 
Grange,  with  a  good  frame  house,  and  large  barns 
thereon.  Turning  up  the  lane,  we  were  met  by 
the  housekeeper,  a  respectable  kinswoman,  who 
received  us  with  great  civility.  Sir  Thomas,  al 
though  pressed  to  stay,  excused  himself  for  the 
time,  promising  to  call  on  the  morrow,  and  rode 
on  to  the  ordinary.  I  was  sadly  tired  with  my 
journey,  and  was  glad  to  be  shown  to  a  chamber 
and  a  comfortable  bed. 

I  was  awakened  this  morning  by  the  pleasant 
voice  of  my  cousin,  who  shared  my  bed.  She  had 
arisen  and  thrown  open  the  window  looking  to 
wards  the  sunrising,  and  the  air  came  in  soft  and 
warm,  and  laden  with  the  sweets  of  flowers  and 
green-growing  things.  And  when  I  had  gotten 
myself  ready,  I  sat  with  her  at  the  window,  and  I 
think  I  may  say  it  was  with  a  feeling  of  praise 
and  thanksgiving  that  mine  eyes  wandered  up  and 
down  over  the  green  meadows,  and  corn-fields, 
and  orchards  of  my  new  home.  Where,  thought 
I,  foolish  one,  be  the  terrors  of  the  wilderness, 
which  troubled  thy  daily  thoughts  and  thy  nightly 


20  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

dreams !  Where  be  the  gloomy  shades,  and  deso 
late  mountains,  and  the  wild  beasts,  with  their  dis 
mal  howlings  and  rages  !  Here  all  looked  peaceful, 
and  bespoke  comfort  and  contentedness.  Even 
the  great  woods  which  climbed  up  the  hills  in  the 
distance  looked  thin  and  soft,  with  their  faint 
young  leaves  a  yellowish-gray,  intermingled  with 
pale,  silvery  shades,  indicating,  as  my  cousin  saith, 
the  different  kinds  of  trees,  some  of  which,  like  the 
willow,  do  put  on  their  leaves  early,  and  others 
late,  like  the  oak,  with  which  the  whole  region 
abound eth.  A  sweet,  quiet  picture  it  was,  with  a 
warm  sun,  very  bright  and  clear,  shining  over  it, 
and  the  great  sea,  glistening  with  the  exceeding 
light,  bounding  the  view  of  mine  eyes,  but  bearing 
my  thoughts,  like  swift  ships,  to  the  laud  of  my 
birth,  and  so  uniting,  as  it  were,  the  New  World 
with  the  Old.  Oh,  thought  I,  the  merciful  God, 
who  reneweth  the  earth  and  maketh  it  glad  and 
brave  with  greenery  and  flowers  of  various  hues 
and  smells,  and  causeth  his  south  winds  to  blow 
and  his  rains  to  fall,  that  seed-time  may  not  fail, 
doth  even  here,  in  the  ends  of  his  creation,  prank 
and  beautify  the  work  of  his  hands,  making  the 
desert  places  to  rejoice,  and  the  wilderness  to  blos 
som  as  the  rose.  Verily  his  love  is  over  all,  —  the 
Indian  heathen  as  well  as  the  English  Christian. 
And  what  abundant  cause  for  thanks  have  I,  that 
I  have  been  safely  landed  on  a  shore  so  fair  and 
pleasant,  and  enabled  to  open  mine  eyes  in  peace 
and  love  on  so  sweet  a  May  morning!  And  I  was 
minded  of  a  verse  which  I  learned  from  my  dear 
and  honored  mother  when  a  child,  — 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          21 

*'  Teach  me,  my  God,  thy  love  to  know, 

That  this  new  light,  which  now  I  see, 
May  both  the  work  and  workman  show ; 

Then  by  the  sunbeams  I  will  climb  to  thee." 

When  we  went  below,  we  found  on  the  window- 
seat  which  looketh  to  the  roadway,  a  great  bunch 
of  flowers  of  many  kinds,  such  as  I  had  never  seen 
in  mine  own  country,  very  fresh,  and  glistening 
with  the  dew.  Now,  when  Rebecca  took  them  up, 
her  sister  said,  "  Nay,  they  are  not  Sir  Thomas's 
gift,  for  young  Pike  hath  just  left  them." 
Whereat,  as  I  thought,  she  looked  vexed,  and  ill 
at  ease.  "  They  are  yours,  then,  Cousin  Marga 
ret,"  said  she,  rallying,  "  for  Robert  and  you  did 
ride  aside  all  the  way  from  Agawam,  and  he  scarce 
spake  to  me  the  day  long.  I  see  I  have  lost  mine 
old  lover,  and  my  little  cousin  hath  found  a  new 
one.  I  shall  write  Cousin  Oliver  all  about  it."  — 
"  Nay,"  said  I,  "  old  lovers  are  better  than  new ; 
but  I  fear  my  sweet  cousin  hath  not  so  considered 
it."  She  blushed,  and  looked  aside,  and  for  some 
space  of  time  I  did  miss  her  smile,  and  she  spake 
little. 

May  20. 

We  had  scarcely  breakfasted,  when  him  they 
call  Sir  Thomas  called  on  us,  and  with  him  came 
also  a  Mr.  Sewall,  and  the  minister  of  the  church, 
Mr.  Richardson,  both  of  whom  did  cordially  wel 
come  home  my  cousins,  and  were  civil  to  my 
brother  and  myself.  Mr.  Richardson  and  Leonard 
fell  to  conversing  about  the  state  of  the  Church ; 
and  Sir  Thomas  discoursed  us  in  his  lively  way. 
After  some  little  tarry,  Mr.  Sewall  asked  us  to  go 


22  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

with  him  to  Deer's  Island,  a  small  way  up  the 
river,  where  he  and  Robert  Pike  had  some  men 
splitting  staves  for  the  Bermuda  market.  As  the 
day  was  clear  and  warm,  we  did  readily  agree  to 
go,  and  forth  witli  set  out  for  the  river,  passing 
through  the  woods  for  nearly  a  half  mile.  When 
we  came  to  the  Merrimac,  we  found  it  a  great 
and  broad  stream.  We  took  a  boat,  and  were 
rowed  up  the  river,  enjoying  the  pleasing  view  of 
the  green  banks,  and  the  rocks  hanging  over  the 
water,  covered  with  bright  mosses,  and  besprinkled 
with  pale,  white  flowers.  Mr.  Sewall  pointed  out 
to  us  the  different  kinds  of  trees,  and  their  nature 
and  uses,  and  especially  the  sugar-tree,  which  is 
very  beautiful  in  its  leaf  and  shape,  and  from  which 
the  people  of  this  country  do  draw  a  sap  wellnigh 
as  sweet  as  the  juice  of  the  Indian  cane,  making 
good  treacle  and  sugar.  Deer's  Island  hath  rough, 
rocky  shores,  vary  high  and  steep,  and  is  well  cov 
ered  with  a  great  growth  of  trees,  mostly  evergreen 
pines  and  hemlocks  which  looked  exceeding  old. 
We  found  a  good  seat  on  the  mossy  trunk  of  one 
of  these  great  trees,  which  had  fallen  from  its  ex 
treme  age,  or  from  some  violent  blast  of  wind, 
from  whence  we  could  see  the  water  breaking  into 
white  foam  on  the  rocks,  and  hear  the  melodious 
sound  of  the  wind  in  the  leaves  of  the  pines,  and 
the  singing  of  birds  ever  and  anon ;  and  lest  this 
should  seem  too  sad  and  lonely,  we  could  also  hear 
the  sounds  of  the  axes  and  beetles  of  the  workmen, 
cleaving  the  timber  not  far  off.  It  was  not  long  be 
fore  Robert  Pike  came  up  and  joined  us.  He  was 
in  his  working  dress,  and  his  face  and  hands  were 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL  23 

much  discolored  by  the  smut  of  the  burnt  logs, 
which  Rebecca  playfully  remarking,  he  said  there 
were  no  mirrors  in  the  woods,  and  that  must  be 
his  apology ;  that,  besides,  it  did  not  become  a 
plain  man,  like  himself,  who  had  to  make  his  own 
fortune  in  the  world,  to  try  to  imitate  those  who 
had  only  to  open  their  mouths,  to  be  fed  like 
young  robins,  without  trouble  or  toil.  Such  might 
go  as  brave  as  they  would,  if  they  would  only  ex 
cuse  his  necessity.  I  thought  he  spoke  with  some 
bitterness,  which,  indeed,  was  not  without  the  ex 
cuse,  that  the  manner  of  our  gay  young  gentleman 
towards  him  savored  much  of  pride  and  contempt- 
uousness.  My  beloved  cousin,  who  hath  a  good 
heart,  and  who,  I  must  think,  apart  from  the 
wealth  and  family  of  Sir  Thomas,  rather  inclineth 
to  her  old  friend  and  neighbor,  spake  cheerily  and 
kindly  to  him,  and  besought  me  privately  to  do 
somewhat  to  help  her  remove  his  vexation.  So  we 
did  discourse  of  many  things  very  pleasantly.  Mr. 
Richardson,  on  hearing  Rebecca  say  that  the  In 
dians  did  take  the  melancholy  noises  of  the  pine- 
trees  in  the  winds  to  be  the  voices  of  the  Spirits 
of  the  woods,  said  that  they  always  called  to  his 
mind  the  sounds  in  the  mulberry-trees  which  the 
Prophet  spake  of.  Hereupon  Rebecca,  who  hath 
her  memory  well  provided  with  divers  readings, 
both  of  the  poets  and  other  writers,  did  cite  very 
opportunely  some  ingenious  lines,  touching  what 
the  heathens  do  relate  of  the  Sacred  Tree  of  Do- 
dona,  the  rustling  of  whose  leaves  the  negro  priest 
esses  did  hold  to  be  the  language  of  the  gods. 
And  a  late  writer,  she  said,  had  something  in  one 


24  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

of  his  pieces,  which  might  well  be  spoken  of  the 
aged  and  dead  tree-trunk,  upon  which  we  were  sit 
ting.  And  when  we  did  all  desire  to  know  their 
import,  she  repeated  them  thus :  — 

"  Sure  thou  didst  flourish  once,  and  many  springs, 

Many  bright  mornings,  much  dew,  many  showers, 

Passed  o'er  thy  head ;  many  light  hearts  and  wings, 

Which  now  are  dead,  lodged  in  thy  living  towers. 

'  And  still  a  new  succession  sings  and  flies, 

Fresh  groves  grow  up,  and  their  green  branches  shoot 
Towards  the  old  and  still  enduring  skies, 
While  the  low  violet  thriveth  at  their  root." 

These  lines,  she  said,  were  written  by  one  Vaughn, 
a  Brecknockshire  Welsh  Doctor  of  Medicine,  who 
had  printed  a  little  book  not  many  years  ago. 
Mr.  Richardson  said  the  lines  were  good,  but  that 
he  did  hold  the  reading  of  ballads  and  the  conceits 
of  rhymers  a  waste  of  time,  to  say  nothing  worse. 
Sir  Thomas  hereat  said  that,  as  far  as  he  could 
judge,  the  worthy  folk  of  New  England  had  no 
great  temptation  to  that  sin  from  their  own  poets, 
and  did  then,  in  a  drolling  tone,  repeat  some 
verses  of  the  137th  Psalm,  which  he  said  were  the 
best  he  had  seen  in  the  Cambridge  Psalm  Book :  — 

"  The  rivers  on  of  Babylon, 

There  when  we  did  sit  down, 
Yea,  even  then  we  mourned  when 

We  remembered  Sion. 
Our  harp  we  did  hang  it  amid 

Upon  the  willow-tree ; 
Because  there  they  that  us  away 

Led  to  captivity 
Required  of  us  a  song,  and  thus 

Asked  mirth  us  waste  who  laid, 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          25 

Sing  us  among-  a  Sion's  song 
Unto  us  as  then  they  said." 

4i  Nay,  Sir  Thomas,"  quoth  Mr.  Richardson, 
"  it  is  not  seemly  to  jest  over  the  Word  of  God. 
The  writers  of  our  Book  of  Psalms  in  metre  held 
rightly  that  God's  altar  needs  no  polishing ;  and 
truly  they  have  rendered  the  words  of  David  into 
English  verse  with  great  fidelity." 

Our  young  gentleman,  not  willing  to  displeasure 
a  man  so  esteemed  as  Mr.  Richardson,  here  made 
an  apology  for  his  jesting,  and  said  that,  as  to 
the  Cambridge  version,  it  was  indeed  faithful; 
and  that  it  was  no  blame  to  uninspired  men,  that 
they  did  fall  short  of  the  beauties  and  richness  of 
the  Lord's  Psalmist.  It  being  now  near  noon,  we 
crossed  over  the  river,  to  where  was  a  sweet  spring 
of  water,  very  clear  and  bright,  running  out  upon 
the  green  bank.  Now,  as  we  stood  thirsty,  having 
no  cup  to  drink  from,  seeing  some  people  near,  we 
called  to  them,  and  presently  there  came  running 
to  us  a  young  and  modest  woman,  with  a  bright 
pewter  tankard,  which  she  filled  and  gave  us.  I 
thought  her  sweet  and  beautiful,  as  Rebecca  of 
old,  at  her  father's  fountain.  She  was  about  leav 
ing,  when  Mr.  Richardson  said  to  her,  it  was  a  foul 
shame  for  one  like  her  to  give  heed  to  the  ranting 
of  the  Quakers,  and  bade  her  be  a  good  girl,  and 
come  to  the  meeting. 

"  Nay,"  said  she,  "  I  have  been  there  often,  to 
small  profit.  The  spirit  which  thou  persecutest 
testifieth  against  thee  and  thy  meeting." 

Sir  Thomas  jestingly  asked  her  if  the  spirit  she 
spoke  of  was  not  such  an  one  as  possessed  Mary 
Magdalen. 


zo  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

"  Or  the  swine  of  the  Gadarenes  ?  "  asked  Mr, 
Richardson. 

I  did  smile  with  the  others,  but  was  presently 
sorry  for  it ;  for  the  young  maid  answered  not  a 
word  to  this,  but  turning  to  Rebecca,  she  said, 
"  Thy  father  hath  been  hard  with  us,  but  thou 
seemest  kind  and  gentle,  and  I  have  heard  of  thy 
charities  to  the  poor.  The  Lord  keep  thee,  for 
thou  walkest  in  slippery  places  ;  there  is  danger, 
and  thou  seest  it  not ;  thou  trustest  to  the  hearing 
of  the  ear  and  the  seeing  of  the  eye ;  the  Lord 
alone  seeth  the  deceitfulness  and  the  guile  of 
man  ;  and  if  thou  wilt  cry  mightily  to  Him,  He 
can  direct  thee  rightly." 

Her  voice  and  manner  were  very  weighty  and 
solemn.  I  felt  an  awe  come  upon  me,  and  Rebec 
ca's  countenance  was  troubled.  As  the  maiden 
left  us,  the  minister,  looking  after  said,  "  There  is 
a  deal  of  poison  under  the  fair  outside  of  yonder 
vessel,  which  I  fear  is  fitted  for  destruction."  — 
"  Peggy  Brewster  is  indeed  under  a  delusion,"  an 
swered  Robert  Pike,  "  but  I  know  no  harm  of  her. 
She  is  kind  to  all,  even  to  them  who  evil  entreat 
her." 

"  Robert,  Robert !  "  cried  the  minister,  "  I  fear 
me  you  will  follow  your  honored  father,  who  has 
made  himself  of  ill  repute,  by  favoring  these  peo 
ple." —  "The  Quaker  hath  bewitched  him  with 
her  bright  eyes,  perhaps,"  quoth  Sir  Thomas.  "  I 
would  she  had  laid  a  spell  on  an  uncivil  tongue 
I  wot  of,"  answered  Robert,  angrily.  Hereupon, 
Mr.  Sewall  proposed  that  we  should  return,  and  in 
making  ready  and  getting  to  the  boat,  the  matter 
was  dropped. 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          27 

NEWBURY,  June  1,  1678. 

To-day  Sir  Thomas  took  his  leave  of  us,  being 
about  to  go  back  "to  Boston.  Cousin  Rebecca  is, 
I  can  see,  much  taken  with  his  outside  bravery 
and  courtliness,  yet  she  hath  confessed  to  me  that 
her  sober  judgment  doth  greatly  incline  her  to« 
wards  her  old  friend  and  neighbor,  Robert  Pike. 
She  hath  even  said  that  she  doubted  not  she  could 
live  a  quieter  and  happier  life  with  him  than  with 
such  an  one  as  Sir  Thomas  ;  and  that  the  words  of 
the  Quaker  maid,  whom  we  met  at  the  spring  on 
the  river  side,  had  disquieted  her  not  a  little,  inas 
much  as  they  did  seem  to  confirm  her  own  fears 
and  misgivings.  But  her  fancy  is  so  bedazzled 
with  the  goodly  show  of  her  suitor,  that  I  much 
fear  he  can  have  her  for  the  asking,  especially  as 
her  father,  to  my  knowledge,  doth  greatly  favor 
him.  And,  indeed,  by  reason  of  her  gracious  man 
ner,  witty  and  pleasant  discoursing,  excellent 
breeding,  and  dignity,  she  would  do  no  discredit  to 
the  choice  of  one  far  higher  than  this  young  gen 
tleman  in  estate  and  rank. 

June  10. 

I  went  this  morning  with  Rebecca  to  visit  Elna- 
than  Stone,  a  young  neighbor,  who  has  been  lying 
sorely  ill  for  a  long  time.  He  was  a  playmate 
of  my  cousin  when  a  boy,  and  was  thought  to  be 
of  great  promise  as  he  grew  up  to  manhood  ;  but, 
engaging  in  the  war  with  the  heathen,  he  was 
wounded  and  taken  captive  by  them,  and  after 
much  suffering  was  brought  back  to  his  home  a 
few  months  ago.  On  entering  the  house  where  he 


28          MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

lay,  we  found  his  mother,  a  careworn  and  sad 
woman,  spinning  in  the  room  by  his  bedside.  A 
very  great  and  bitter  sorrow  was  depicted  on  her 
features ;  it  was  the  anxious,  unreconciled,  and 
restless  look  of  one  who  did  feel  herself  tried  be 
yond  her  patience,  and  might  not  be  comforted. 
For,  as  I  learned,  she  was  a  poor  widow,  who  had 
seen  her  young  daughter  tomahawked  by  the 
Indians  ;  and  now  her  only  son,  the  hope  of  her 
old  age,  was  on  his  death-bed.  She  received  us 
with  small  civility,  telling  Rebecca  that  it  was  all 
along  of  the  neglect  of  the  men  in  authority  that 
her  son  had  got  his  death  in  the  wars,  inasmuch  as 
it  was  the  want  of  suitable  diet  and  clothing, 
rather  than  his  wounds,  which  had  brought  him 
into  his  present  condition.  Now,  as  Uncle  Rawson 
is  one  of  the  principal  magistrates,  my  sweet  cousin 
knew  that  the  poor  afflicted  creature  meant  to  re 
proach  him ;  but  her  good  heart  did  excuse  and 
forgive  the  rudeness  and  distemper  of  one  whom 
the  Lord  had  sorely  chastened.  So  she  spake 
kindly  and  lovingly,  and  gave  her  sundry  nice 
dainty  fruits  and  comforting  cordials,  which  she 
had  got  from  Boston  for  the  sick  man.  Then,  as 
she  came  to  his  bedside,  and  took  his  hand  lov 
ingly  in  her  own,  he  thanked  her  for  her  many 
kindnesses,  and  pra}red  God  to  bless  her.  He 
must  have  been  a  handsome  lad  in  health,  for  he 
had  a  fair,  smooth  forehead,  shaded  with  brown, 
curling  hair,  and  large,  blue  eyes,  very  sweet  and 
gentle  in  their  look.  He  told  us  that  he  felt  him 
self  growing  weaker,  and  that  at  times  his  bodily 
suffering  was  great.  But  through  the  mercy  of 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          29 

his  Saviour  he  had  much  peace  of  mind.  He  was 
content  to  leave  all  things  in  His  hand.  For  his 
poor  mother's  sake,  he  said,  more  than  for  his 
own,  he  would  like  to  get  about  once  more  ;  there 
were  many  things  he  would  like  to  do  for  her,  and 
for  all  who  had  befriended  him  ;  but  he  knew  his 
Heavenly  Father  could  do  more  and  better  for 
them,  and  he  felt  resigned  to  His  will.  He  had, 
he  said,  forgiven  all  who  ever  wronged  him,  and 
he  had  now  no  feeling  of  anger  or  unkindness 
left  towards  any  one,  for  all  seemed  kind  to  him 
beyond  his  deserts,  and  like  brothers  and  sisters. 
He  had  much  pity  for  the  poor  savages  even, 
although  he  had  suffered  sorely  at  their  hands  ; 
for  he  did  believe  that  they  had  been  often  ill- 
used,  and  cheated,  and  otherwise  provoked  to  take 
up  arms  against  us.  Hereupon,  Goodwife  Stone 
twirled  her  spindle  very  spitefully,  and  said  she 
would  as  soon  pity  the  Devil  as  his  children.  The 
thought  of  her  mangled  little  girl,  and  of  her  dying 
son,  did  seem  to  overcome  her,  and  she  dropped 
her  thread,  and  cried  out  with  an  exceeding  bit 
ter  cry,  —  "  Oh,  the  bloody  heathen  !  Oh,  my 
poor  murdered  Molly  !  Oh,  my  son,  my  son  !  " 
—  "  Nay,  mother,"  said  the  sick  man,  reaching  out 
his  hand  and  taking  hold  of  his  mother's,  with  a 
sweet  smile  on  his  pale  face,  —  "  what  does  Christ 
tell  us  about  loving  our  enemies,  and  doing  good 
to  them  that  do  injure  us  ?  Let  us  forgive  our  fel 
low-creatures,  for  we  have  all  need  of  God's  for 
giveness.  I  used  to  feel  as  mother  does,"  he  said, 
turning  to  us ;  "  for  I  went  into  the  war  with  a  de 
sign  to  spare  neither  young  nor  old  of  the  enemy. 


30          MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

But  I  thank  God  that  even  in  that  dark  season  my 
heart  relented  at  the  sight  of  the  poor  starving 
women  and  children,  chased  from  place  to  place 
like  partridges.  Even  the  Indian  fighters,  I  found, 
had  sorrows  of  their  own,  and  grievous  wrongs  to 
avenge ;  and  I  do  believe,  if  we  had  from  the  first 
treated  them  as  poor  blinded  brethren,  and  striven 
as  hard  to  give  them  light  and  knowledge,  as  we 
have  to  cheat  them  in  trade,  and  to  get  away  their 
lands,  we  should  have  escaped  many  bloody  wars, 
and  won  many  precious  souls  to  Christ." 

I  inquired  of  him  concerning  his  captivity.  He 
was  wounded,  he  told  me,  in  a  fight  with  the  So- 
kokis  Indians  two  years  before.  It  was  a  hot  skir 
mish  in  the  woods ;  the  English  and  the  Indians 
now  running  forward,  and  then  falling  back,  firing 
at  each  other  from  behind  the  trees.  He  had  shot 
off  all  his  powder,  and,  being  ready  to  faint  by 
reason  of  a  wound  in  his  knee,  he  was  fain  to  sit 
down  against  an  oak,  from  whence  he  did  behold, 
with  great  sorrow  and  heaviness  of  heart,  his  com- 

O 

panions  overpowered  by  the  number  of  their  ene 
mies,  fleeing  away  and  leaving  him  to  his  fate. 
The  savages  soon  came  to  him  with  dreadful 
whoopings,  brandishing  their  hatchets  and  their 
scalping-knives.  He  thereupon  closed  his  eyes, 
expecting  to  be  knocked  in  the  head,  and  killed 
outright.  But  just  then  a  noted  chief  coming  up 
in  great  haste,  bade  him  be  of  good  cheer,  for  he 
was  his  prisoner,  and  should  not  be  slain.  He 
proved  to  be  the  famous  Sagamore  Squando,  the 
chief  man  of  the  Sokokis. 

"  And  were  you  kindly  treated  by  this  chief?  ' 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL  31 

asked  Rebecca.  "  I  suffered  much  in  moving  with 
him  to  the  Sebago  Lake,  owing  to  my  wound,"  he 
replied ;  "  but  the.  chief  did  all  in  his  power  to 
give  me  comfort,  and  he  often  shared  with  me  his 
scant  fare,  choosing  rather  to  endure  hunger  him 
self,  than  to  see  his  son,  as  he  called  me,  in  want 
of  food.  And  one  night,  when  I  did  marvel  at 
this  kindness  on  his  part,  he  told  me  that  I  had 
once  done  him  a  great  service  ;  asking  me  if  I  was 
not  at  Black  Point,  in  a  fishing  vessel,  the  summer 
before  ?  I  told  him  I  was.  He  then  bade  me  re 
member  the  bad  sailors  who  upset  the  canoe  of  a 
squaw,  and  wellnigh  drowned  her  little  child,  and 
that  I  had  threatened  and  beat  them  for  it ;  and 
also  how  I  gave  the  squaw  a  warm  coat  to  wrap 
up  the  poor  wet  papoose.  It  was  his  squaw  and 
child  that  I  had  befriended ;  and  he  told  me  that 
he  had  often  tried  to  speak  to  me,  and  make 
known  his  gratitude  therefor ;  and  that  he  came 
once  to  the  garrison  at  Sheepscot,  where  he  saw 
me  ;  but  being  fired  at,  notwithstanding  his  signs 
of  peace  and  friendship,  he  was  obliged  to  flee  into 
the  woods.  He  said  the  child  died  a  few  days 
after  its  evil  treatment,  and  the  thought  of  it  made 
his  heart  bitter ;  that  he  had  tried  to  live  peace 
ably  with  the  white  men,  but  they  had  driven  him 
into  the  war. 

"  On  one  occasion,"  said  the  sick  soldier,  "  as  we 
lay  side  by  side  in  his  hut,  on  the  shore  of  the  Se 
bago  Lake,  Squando,  about  midnight,  began  to  pray 
to  his  God  very  earnestly.  And  on  my  querying 
with  him  about  it,  he  said  he  was  greatly  in  doubt 
what  to  do,  and  had  prayed  for  some  sign  of  the 


32          MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL. 

Great  Spirit's  will  concerning  him.  He  then  told 
ine  that  some  years  ago,  near  the  place  where  we 
then  lay,  he  left  his  wigwam  at  night,  being  unable 
to  sleep,  by  reason  of  great  heaviness  and  distem 
per  of  mind.  It  was  a  full  moon,  and  as  he  did 
walk  to  and  fro,  he  saw  a  fair,  tall  man  in  a  long 
black  dress,  standing  in  the  light  on  the  lake's 
shore,  who  spake  to  him  and  called  him  by  name. 

"  4  Squando,'  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  deep 
and  solemn,  like  the  wind  in  the  hill  pines,  '  the 
God  of  the  white  man  is  the  God  of  the  Indian 
and  He  is  angry  with  his  red  children.  He  alone 
is  able  to  make  the  corn  grow  before  the  frost,  and 
to  lead  the  fish  up  the  rivers  in  the  spring,  and  to 
fill  the  woods  with  deer  and  other  game,  and  the 
ponds  and  meadows  with  beavers.  Pray  to  Him 
always.  Do  not  hunt  on  His  day,  nor  let  the 
squaws  hoe  the  corn.  Never  taste  of  the  strong 
fire-water,  but  drink  only  from  the  springs.  It  is 
because  the  Indians  do  not  worship  Him,  that  He 
has  brought  the  white  men  among  them ;  but  if 
they  will  pray  like  the  white  men,  they  will  grow 
very  great  and  strong,  and  their  children  born  in 
this  moon  will  live  to  see  the  English  sail  back  in 
their  great  canoes,  and  leave  the  Indians  all  their 
fishing-places  and  hunting-grounds.' 

"  When  the  strange  man  had  thus  spoken, 
Squando  told  me  that  he  went  straightway  up  tc 
him,  but  found  where  he  had  stood  only  the  shadow 
of  a  broken  tree,  which  lay  in  the  moon  across  the 
white  sand  of  the  shore.  Then  he  knew  it  was  a 
spirit,  and  he  trembled,  but  was  glad.  Ever  since, 
he  told  me,  he  had  prayed  daily  to  the  Great  Spirit, 
had  drank  no  rum,  nor  hunted  on  the  Sabbath. 


MARGAltET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL  33 

"  He  said  he  did  for  a  long  time  refuse  to  dig 
up  his  hatchet,  and  make  war  upon  the  whites,  but 
that  he  could  not  sit  idle  in  his  wigwam,  while  his 
young  men  were  gone  upon  their  war-path.  The 
spirit  of  his  dead  child  did  moreover  speak  to  him 
from  the  land  of  souls,  and  chide  him  for  not  seek 
ing  revenge.  Once,  he  told  me,  he  had  in  a  dream 
seen  the  child  crying  and  moaning  bitterly,  and 
that  when  he  inquired  the  cause  of  its  grief,  he 
was  told  that  the  Great  Spirit  was  angry  with  its 
father,  and  would  destroy  him  and  his  people  un 
less  he  did  join  with  the  Eastern  Indians  to  cut  oif 
the  English." 

"  I  remember,"  said  Rebecca,  "  of  hearing  my 
father  speak  of  this  Squando's  kindness  to  a  young 
maid  taken  captive  some  years  ago  at  Presump- 
scot." 

"I  saw  her  at  Cocheco,"  said  the  sick  man. 
"Squando  found  her  in  a  sad  plight,  and  scarcely 
alive,  took  her  to  his  wigwam,  where  his  squaw  did 
lovingly  nurse  and  comfort  her ;  and  when  she  was 
able  to  travel,  he  brought  her  to  Major  Waldron's, 
asking  no  ransom  for  her.  He  might  have  been 
made  the  fast  friend  of  the  English  at  that  time, 
but  he  scarcely  got  civil  treatment." 

"  My  father  says  that  many  friendly  Indians, 
by  the  ill  conduct  of  the  traders,  have  been  made 
our  worst  enemies,"  said  Rebecca.  "  He  thought 
the  bringing  in  of  the  Mohawks  to  help  us  a  sin 
comparable  to  that  of  the  Jews,  who  looked  for  de 
liverance  from  the  King  of  Babylon  at  the  hands 
of  the  Egyptians." 

"  They  did  nothing  but  mischief,"  said  Elnathan 


34  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

Stone ;  "  they  killed  our  friends  at  Newichawan- 
nock,  Blind  Will  and  his  family." 

Rebecca  here  asked  him  if  he  ever  heard  the 
verses  writ  by  Mr.  Sewall  concerning  the  killing 
of  Blind  Will.  And  when  he  told  her  he  had  not, 
and  would  like  to  have  her  repeat  them,  if  she 
could  remember,  she  did  recite  them  thus  :  — 

"  Blind  Will  of  Newichawannock ! 

He  never  will  whoop  again, 
For  his  wigwam  's  burnt  above  him, 
And  his  old,  gray  scalp  is  ta'en ! 

"  Blind  Will  was  the  friend  of  white  men, 

On  their  errands  his  young  men  ran, 
And  he  got  him  a  coat  and  breeches, 
And  looked  like  a  Christian  man. 

* '  Poor  Will  of  Newichawannock  ! 

They  slew  him  unawares, 
Where  he  lived  among  his  people, 
Keeping  Sabbath  and  saying  prayers. 

"  Now  his  fields  will  know  no  harvest, 

And  his  pipe  is  clean  put  out, 
And  his  fine,  brave  coat  and  breeches 
The  Mohog  wears  about. 

**  Woe  the  day  our  rulers  listened 

To  Sir  Edmund's  wicked  plan, 

Bringing  down  the  cruel  Mohogs 

Who  killed  the  poor  old  man. 

"  Oh  !  the  Lord  He  will  requite  us  ; 

For  the  evil  we  have  done, 
There  '11  be  many  a  fair  scalp  drying 
In  the  wind  and  in  the  sun  ! 

"  There  '11  be  many  a  captive  sighing, 

In  a  bondage  long  and  dire  ; 
There  '11  be  blood  in  many  a  corn-field,, 
And  many  a  house  a-fire. 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL  35 

"  And  the  Papist  priests  the  tidings 

Unto  all  the  tribes  will  send  ; 
They  '11  point  to  Newichawannock,  — 
'  So  the  English  treat  their  friend  !  ' 

*'  Let  the  Lord's  anointed  servants 

Cry  aloud  against  this  wrong, 
Till  Sir  Edmund  take  his  Mohogs 
Back  again  where  they  belong. 

"  Let  the  maiden  and  the  mother 
In  the  nightly  watching  share, 
While  the  young  men  guard  the  block-house, 
And  the  old  men  kneel  in  prayer. 

"  Poor  Will  of  Newichawannock  ! 

For  thy  sad  and  cruel  fall, 
And  the  bringing  in  of  the  Mohogs, 
May  the  Lord  forgive  us  all !  " 

A  young  woman  entered  the  house  just  as  Re 
becca  finished  the  verses.  She  bore  in  her  hands 
a  pail  of  milk  and  a  fowl  neatly  dressed,  which  she 
gave  to  Emathan's  mother,  and,  seeing  strangers 
by  his  bedside,  was  about  to  go  out,  when  he  called 
to  her  and  besought  her  to  stay.  As  she  came  up 
and  spoke  to  him,  I  knew  her  to  be  the  maid  we 
had  met  at  the  spring.  The  young  man,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes,  acknowledged  her  great  kindness 
to  him,  at  which  she  seemed  troubled  and  abashed. 
A  pure,  sweet  complexion  she  hath,  and  a  gentle 
and  loving  look,  full  of  innocence  and  sincerity. 
Rebecca  seemed  greatly  disturbed,  for  she  no  doubt 
thought  of  the  warning  words  of  this  maiden,  when 
we  were  at  the  spring.  After  she  had  left,  Good- 
wife  Stone  said  she  was  sure  she  could  not  tell 
what  brought  that  Quaker  girl  to  her  house  so 
much,  unless  she  meant  to  inveigle  Elnathan ; 


3d  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

but,  for  her  part,  she  would  rather  see  him  dead 
than  live  to  bring  reproach  upon  his  family  and 
the  Church  by  following  after  the  blasphemers.  I 
ventured  to  tell  her  that  I  did  look  upon  it  as  sheer 
kindness  and  love  on  the  young  woman's  part ;  at 
which  Elnathan  seemed  pleased,  and  said  he  could 
not  doubt  it,  and  that  he  did  believe  Peggy  Brew- 
ster  to  be  a  good  Christian,  although  sadly  led 
astray  by  the  Quakers.  His  mother  said  that, 
with  all  her  meek  looks,  and  kind  words,  she  was 
full  of  all  manner  of  pestilent  heresies,  and  did  re 
mind  her  always  of  Satan  in  the  shape  of  an  angel 
of  light. 

We  went  away  ourselves  soon  after  this,  the  sick 
man  thanking  us  for  our  visit,  and  hoping  that  he 
should  see  us  again.  "  Poor  Elnathan,"  said  Re 
becca,  as  we  walked  home,  "he  will  never  go 
abroad  again  ;  but  he  is  in  such  a  good  and  loving 
frame  of  mind,  that  he  needs  not  our  pity,  as  one 
who  is  without  hope." 

"  He  reminds  me,"  I  said,  "  of  the  comforting 
promise  of  Scripture,  '  Thou  wilt  keep  him  in 
perfect  peace  whose  mind  is  stayed  on  Tliee.9 ' 

June  30,  1678. 

Mr.  Rawson  and  Sir  Thomas  Hale  came  yester 
day  from  Boston.  I  was  rejoiced  to  see  mine 
uncle,  more  especially  as  he  brought  for  me  a 
package  of  letters,  and  presents  and  tokens  of  re 
membrance  from  my  friends  on  the  other  side  of 
the  water.  As  soon  as  I  got  them,  I  went  up  to 
my  chamber,  and,  as  I  read  of  the  health  of  those 
who  are  very  dear  to  me,  and  who  did  still  regard 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL  37 

me  with  unchanged  love,  I  wept  in  my  great  joy, 
and  my  heart  overflowed  in  thankfulness.  I  read 
the  22d  Psalm,  and  it  did  seem  to  express  mine 
own  feelings  in  view  of  the  great  mercies  and 
blessings  vouchsafed  to  me.  "  My  head  is  an 
ointed  with  oil ;  my  cup  runneth  over.  Surely 
goodness  and  mercy  shall  follow  me  all  the  days 
of  my  life." 

This  morning,  Sir  Thomas  and  Uncle  Rawson 
rode  over  to  Hampton,  where  they  will  tarry  all 
night.  Last  evening,  Rebecca  had  a  long  talk 
with  her  father  concerning  Sir  Thomas,  who  hath 
asked  her  of  him.  She  came  to  bed  very  late,  and 
lay  restless  and  sobbing  ;  whereupon  I  pressed  her 
to  know  the  cause  of  her  grief,  when  she  told  me 
she  had  consented  to  marry  Sir  Thomas,  but  that 
her  heart  was  sorely  troubled  and  full  of  misgiv 
ings.  On  my  querying  whether  she  did  really  love 
the.  young  gentleman,  she  said  she  sometimes  feared 
she  did  not ;  and  that  when  her  fancy  had  made  a 
fair  picture  of  the  life  of  a  great  lady  in  England, 
there  did  often  come  a  dark  cloud  over  it  like  the 
shade  of  some  heavy  disappointment  or  sorrow. 
"  Sir  Thomas,"  she  said,  "  was  a  handsome  and 
witty  young  man,  and  had  demeaned  himself  to 
the  satisfaction  and  good  repute  of  her  father  and 
the  principal  people  of  the  Colony  ;  and  his  man 
ner  towards  her  had  been  exceeding  delicate  and 
modest,  inasmuch  as  he  had  presumed  nothing 
upon  his  family  or  estate,  but  had  sought  her  with 
much  entreaty  and  humility,  although  he  did  well 
know  that  some  of  the  most  admired  and  wealthy 
young  women  in  Boston  did  esteem  him  not  a  lit- 


38  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

tie,  even  to  the  annoying  of  herself,  as  one  whom 
he  especially  favored." 

"  This  will  be  heavy  news  to  Robert  Pike,"  said 
I ;  "  and  I  am  sorry  for  him,  for  he  is  indeed  a 
worthy  man." 

"  That  he  is,"  quoth  she  ;  "  but  he  hath  never 
spoken  to  me  of  aught  beyond  that  friendliness 
which,  as  neighbors  and  school  companions,  we  do 
innocently  cherish  for  each  other." 

"  Nay,"  said  I,  "  my  sweet  cousin  knows  full 
well  that  he  entertaineth  so  strong  an  affection  for 
her,  that  there  needeth  no  words  to  reveal  it." 

"  Alas  !  "  she  answered,  "  it  is  too  true.  When 
I  am  with  him,  I  sometimes  wish  I  had  never  seen 
Sir  Thomas.  But  my  choice  is  made,  and  I  pray 
God  I  may  not  have  reason  to  repent  of  it." 

We  said  no  more,  but  I  fear  she  slept  little,  for 
on  waking  about  the  break  of  day,  I  saw  her  sit 
ting  in  her  night-dress  by  the  window.  Where 
upon  I  entreated  her  to  return  to  her  bed,  which 
she  at  length  did,  and  folding  me  in  her  arms,  and 
sobbing  as  if  her  heart  would  break,  she  besought 
me  to  pity  her,  for  it  was  no  light  thing  which  she 
had  done,  and  she  scarcely  knew  her  own  mind, 
nor  whether  to  rejoice  or  weep  over  it.  I  strove 
to  comfort  her,  and,  after  a  time,  she  did,  to  my 
great  joy,  fall  into  a  quiet  sleep. 

This  afternoon,  Robert  Pike  came  in,  and  had  a 
long  talk  with  Cousin  Broughton,  who  told  him 
how  matters  stood  between  her  sister  and  Sir 
Thomas,  at  which  he  was  vehemently  troubled,  and 
would  fain  have  gone  to  seek  Rebecca  at  once,  and 
expostulate  with  her,  but  was  hindered  on  being 


x^  viJD     KY  ^<\ 

if  OF  ~HE  ^ 

I    UIMIVERLH  Y   )) 

OF  / 

'S  JOURNAL  39 


told  that  it  could  only  grieve  and  discomfort  her, 
inasmuch  as  the  thing  was  well  settled,  and  could 
not  be  broken  off.  He  said  he  had  known  and 
loved  her  from  a  child  ;  that  for  her  sake  he  had 
toiled  hard  by  day  and  studied  by  night  ;  and  that 
in  all  his  travels  and  voyages,  her  sweet  image  had 
always  gone  with  him.  He  would  bring  no  accu 
sation  against  her,  for  she  had  all  along  treated 
him  rather  as  a  brother  than  as  a  suitor  :  to  which 
last  condition  he  had  indeed  not  felt  himself  at 
liberty  to  venture,  after  her  honored  father,  some 
months  ago,  had  given  him  to  understand  that  he 
did  design  an  alliance  of  his  daughter  with  a  gen 
tleman  of  estate  and  family.  For  himself,  he 
would  bear  himself  manfully,  and  endure  his  sor 
row  with  patience  and  fortitude.  His  only  fear 
was,  that  his  beloved  friend  had  been  too  hasty  in 
deciding  the  matter;  and  that  he  who  was  her 
choice  might  not  be  worthy  of  the  great  gift  of 
her  affection.  Cousin  Broughton,  who  has  hitherto 
greatly  favored  the  pretensions  of  Sir  Thomas, 
told  me  that  she  wellnigh  changed  her  mind  in 
view  of  the  manly  and  noble  bearing  of  Robert 
Pike  ;  and  that  if  her  sister  were  to  live  in  this 
land,  she  would  rather  see  her  the  wife  of  him 
than  of  any  other  man  therein. 

July  3. 

Sir  Thomas  took  his  leave  to-day.  Robert 
Pike  hath  been  here  to  wish  Rebecca  great  joy  and 
happiness  in  her  prospect,  which  he  did  in  so  kind 
and  gentle  a  manner,  that  she  was  fain  to  turn 
away  her  head  to  hide  her  tears.  When  Robert 


40  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

saw  this,  he  turned  the  discourse,  and  did  en 
deavor  to  divert  her  mind  in  such  sort  that  the 
shade  of  melancholy  soon  left  her  sweet  face,  and 
the  twain  talked  together  cheerfully  as  had  been 
their  wont,  and  as  became  their  years  and  condi 
tions. 

July  6. 

Yesterday  a  strange  thing  happened  in  the 
meeting-house.  The  minister  had  gone  on  in  his 
discourse,  until  the  sand  in  the  hour-glass  on  the 
rails  before  the  deacons  had  wellnigh  run  out,  and 
Deacon  Dole  was  about  turning  it,  when  suddenly 
I  saw  the  congregation  all  about  me  give  a  great 
start,  and  look  back.  A  young  woman,  bare 
footed,  and  with  a  coarse  canvas  frock  about  her, 
and  her  long  hair  hanging  loose  like  a  periwig,  and 
sprinkled  with  ashes,  came  walking  up  the  south 
aisle.  Just  as  she  got  near  Uncle  Rawson's  seat 
she  stopped,  and  turning  round  towards  the  four 
corners  of  the  house,  cried  out :  "  Woe  to  the  per- 
secutors  !  Woe  to  them  who  for  a  pretence  make 
long  prayers  !  Humble  yourselves,  for  this  is  the 
day  of  the  Lord's  power,  and  I  am  sent  as  a  sign 
among  you  I  "  As  she  looked  towards  me  I  knew 
her  to  be  the  Quaker  maiden,  Margaret  Brewster. 
"  Where  is  the  constable  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Richard 
son.  "  Let  the  woman  be  taken  out."  There 
upon  the  whole  congregation  arose,  and  there  was 
a  great  uproar,  men  and  women  climbing  the  seats, 
and  many  crying  out,  some  one  thing  and  some  an 
other.  In  the  midst  of  the  noise,  Mr.  Sewall,  get 
ting  up  on  a  bench,  begged  the  people  to  be  quiet, 
and  let  the  constable  lead  out  the  poor  deluded 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL  41 

creature.  Mr.  Richardson  spake  to  the  same  ef 
fect,  and,  the  tumult  a  little  subsiding,  I  saw  them 
taking  the  young  woman  out  of  the  door;  and, 
as  many  followed  her,  I  went  out  also,  with  my 
brother,  to  see  what  became  of  her. 

We  found  her  in  the  middle  of  a  great  crowd  of 
angry  people,  who  reproached  her  for  her  wicked 
ness  in  disturbing  the  worship  on  the  Lord's  day, 
calling  her  all  manner  of  foul  names,  and  threaten 
ing  her  with  the  stocks  and  the  whipping-post. 
The  poor  creature  stood  still  and  quiet ;  she  was 
deathly  pale,  and  her  wild  hair  and  sackcloth  frock 
gave  her  a  very  strange  and  pitiable  look.  The 
constable  was  about  to  take  her  in  charge  until 
the  morrow,  when  Robert  Pike  came  forward,  and 
said  he  would  answer  for  her  appearance  at  the 
court  the  next  day,  and  besought  the  people  to  let 
her  go  quietly  to  her  home,  which,  after  some  par 
ley,  was  agreed  to.  Robert  then  went  up  to  her, 
and  taking  her  hand,  asked  her  to  go  with  him. 
She  looked  up,  and  being  greatly  touched  by  his 
kindness,  began  to  weep,  telling  him  that  it  had 
been  a  sorrowful  cross  to  her  to  do  as  she  had 
done  ;  but  that  it  had  been  long  upon  her  mind, 
and  that  she  did  feel  a  relief  now  that  she  had 
found  strength  for  obedience.  He,  seeing  the  peo 
ple  still  following,  hastened  her  away,  and  we  all 
went  back  to  the  meeting-house.  In  the  afternoon, 
Mr.  Richardson  gave  notice  that  he  should  preach, 
next  Lord's  day,  from  the  12th  and  13th  verses  of 
Jude,  wherein  the  ranters  and  disturbers  of  the 
present  day  were  very  plainly  spoken  of. 

This   morning  she   hath   been   had   before  the 


42  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

magistrates,  who,  considering  her  youth  and  good 
behavior  hitherto,  did  not  proceed  against  her  so 
far  as  many  of  the  people  desired.  A  fine  was 
laid  upon  her,  which  both  she  and  her  father  did 
profess  they  could  not  in  conscience  pay,  where 
upon  she  was  ordered  to  be  set  in  the  stocks  ; 
but  this  Mr.  Sewall,  Robert  Pike,  and  my  bro 
ther  would  by  no  means  allow,  but  paid  the  fine 
themselves,  so  that  she  was  set  at  liberty,  whereat 
the  boys  and  rude  women  were  not  a  little  dis 
appointed,  as  they  had  thought  to  make  sport  of 
her  in  the  stocks.  Mr.  Pike,  I  hear,  did  speak 
openly  in  her  behalf  before  the  magistrates,  saying 
that  it  was  all  along  of  the  cruel  persecution  of 
these  people  that  did  drive  them  to  such  follies 
and  breaches  of  the  peace.  Mr.  Richardson,  who 
hath  heretofore  been  exceeding  hard  upon  the  Qua 
kers,  did,  moreover,  speak  somewhat  in  excuse  of 
her  conduct,  believing  that  she  was  instigated  by 
her  elders  ;  and  he  therefore  counselled  the  court 
that  she  should  not  be  whipped. 

August  1. 

Captain  Sewall,  R.  Pike,  and  the  minister,  Mr. 
Richardson,  at  our  house  to-day.  Captain  Sewall, 
who  lives  mostly  at  Boston,  says  that  a  small  ves 
sel  loaded  with  negroes,  taken  on  the  Madagascar 
coast,  came  last  week  into  the  harbor,  and  that  the 
owner  thereof  had  offered  the  negroes  for  sale  as 
slaves,  and  that  they  had  all  been  sold  to  magis 
trates,  ministers,  and  other  people  of  distinction  in 
Boston  and  thereabouts.  He  said  the  negroes 
were  principally  women  and  children,  and  scarcely 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL  43 

alive,  by  reason  of  their  long  voyage  and  hard  fare. 
He  thought  it  a  great  scandal  to  the  Colony,  and 
a  reproach  to  the  Church,  that  they  should  be 
openly  trafficked,  like  cattle  in  the  market.  Uncle 
Rawson  said  it  was  not  so  formerly ;  for  he  did  re 
member  the  case  of  Captain  Smith  and  one  Kesar, 
who  brought  negroes  from  Guinea  thirty  years 
ago.  The  General  Court,  urged  thereto  by  Sir 
Richard  Saltonstall  and  many  of  the  ministers, 
passed  an  order  that,  for  the  purpose  of  "  bearing 
a  witness  against  the  heinous  sin  of  man-stealing, 
justly  abhorred  of  all  good  and  just  men,"  the 
negroes  should  be  taken  back  to  their  own  country 
at  the  charge  of  the  Colony ;  which  was  soon  after 
done.  Moreover,  the  two  men,  Smith  and  Kesar, 
were  duly  punished. 

Mr.  Richardson  said  he  did  make  a  distinction 
between  the  stealing  of  men  from  a  nation  at  peace 
with  us,  and  the  taking  of  captives  in  war.  The 
Scriptures  did  plainly  warrant  the  holding  of  such, 
and  especially  if  they  be  heathen. 

Captain  Sewall  said  he  did,  for  himself,  look 
upon  all  slave-holding  as  contrary  to  the  Gospel 
and  the  New  Dispensation.  The  Israelites  had  a 
special  warrant  for  holding  the  heathen  in  servi 
tude  ;  but  he  had  never  heard  any  one  pretend 
that  he  had  that  authority  for  enslaving  Indians 
and  blackamoors. 

Hereupon  Mr.  Richardson  asked  him  if  he  did 
not  regard  Deacon  Dole  as  a  godly  man ;  and  if 
he  had  aught  to  say  against  him  and  other  pious 
men  who  held  slaves.  And  he  cautioned  him  to 
be  careful,  lest  he  should  be  counted  an  accuser  of 
the  brethren. 


44  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

Here  Robert  Pike  said  he  would  tell  of  a  matter 
which  had  fallen  under  his  notice.  "Just  after 
the  war  was  over,"  said  he,  "  owing  to  the  loss  of 
my  shallop  in  the  Penobscot  Bay,  I  chanced  to  be 
in  the  neighborhood  of  him  they  call  the  Baron  of 
Castine,  who  hath  a  strong  castle,  with  much 
cleared  land  and  great  fisheries  at  Byguyduce.  I 
was  preparing  to  make  a  fire  and  sleep  in  the 
woods,  with  my  two  men,  when  a  messenger  came 
from  the  Baron,  saying  that  his  master,  hearing 
that  strangers  were  in  the  neighborhood,  had  sent 
him  to  offer  us  food  and  shelter,  as  the  night  was 
cold  and  rainy.  So  without  ado  we  went  with 
him,  and  were  shown  into  a  comfortable  room  in  a 
wing  of  the  castle,  where  we  found  a  great  fire 
blazing,  and  a  joint  of  venison  with  wheaten  loaves 
on  the  table.  After  we  had  refreshed  ourselves,  the 
Baron  sent  for  me,  and  I  was  led  into  a  large,  fair 
room,  where  he  was,  with  Modockawando,  who  was 
his  father-in-law,  and  three  or  four  other  chiefs  of 
the  Indians,  together  with  two  of  his  priests.  The 
Baron,  who  was  a  man  of  goodly  appearance,  re 
ceived  me  with  much  courtesy  ;  and  when  I  told 
him  my  misfortune,  he  said  he  was  glad  it  was  in 
his  power  to  afford  us  a  shelter.  He  discoursed 
about  the  war,  which  he  said  had  been  a  sad  thing 
to  the  whites  as  well  as  the  Indians,  but  that  he 
now  hoped  the  peace  would  be  lasting.  Where 
upon,  Modockawando,  a  very  grave  and  serious 
heathen,  who  had  been  sitting  silent  with  his 
friends,  got  up  and  spoke  a  loud  speech  to  me, 
which  I  did  not  understand,  but  was  told  that  he 
did  complain  of  the  whites  for  holding  as  slaves 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          45 

sundry  Indian  captives,  declaring  that  it  did  pro 
voke  another  war.  His  own  sister's  child,  he  said, 
was  thus  held  in -captivity.  He  entreated  me  to 
see  the  great  Chief  of  our  people  (meaning  the 
Governor),  and  tell  him  that  the  cries  of  the  cap» 
tives  were  heard  by  his  young  men,  and  that  they 
were  talking  of  digging  up  the  hatchet  which  the 
old  men  had  buried  at  Casco.  I  told  the  old  sav 
age  that  I  did  not  justify  the  holding  of  Indians 
after  the  peace,  and  would  do  what  I  could  to  have 
them  set  at  liberty,  at  which  he  seemed  greatly 
rejoiced.  Since  I  came  back  from  Castine's  coun 
try,  I  have  urged  the  giving  up  of  the  Indians,  and 
many  have  been  released.  Slavery  is  a  hard  lot, 
and  many  do  account  it  worse  than  death.  When 
in  the  Barbadoes,  I  was  told  that  on  one  planta 
tion,  in  the  space  of  five  years,  a  score  of  slaves 
had  hanged  themselves." 

"  Mr.  Atkinson's  Indian,"  said  Captain  Sewall, 
"  whom  he  bought  of  a  Virginia  ship-owner,  did, 
straightway  on  coming  to  his  house,  refuse  meat ; 
and  although  persuasions  and  whippings  were  tried 
to  make  him  eat,  he  would  not  so  much  as  take  a 
sip  of  drink.  I  saw  him  a  day  or  two  before  he 
died,  sitting  wrapped  up  in  his  blanket,  and  mut 
tering  to  himself.  It  was  a  sad  sight,  and  I  pray 
God  I  may  never  see  the  like  again.  From  that 
time  I  have  looked  upon  the  holding  of  men  as 
slaves  as  a  great  wickedness.  The  Scriptures 
themselves  do  testify,  that  lie  that  leadeth  into  cap 
tivity  shall  go  into  captivity" 

After  the  company  had  gone,  Rebecca  sat  silent 
and  thoughtful  for  a  time,  and  then  bade  her 


46  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

young  serving-girl,  whom  her  father  had  bought, 
about  a  year  before,  of  the  master  of  a  Scotch  ves 
sel,  and  who  had  been  sold  to  pay  the  cost  of  her 
passage,  to  come  to  her.  She  asked  her  if  she  had 
aught  to  complain  of  in  her  situation.  The  poor 
girl  looked  surprised,  but  said  she  had  not.  "  Are 
you  content  to  live  as  a  servant  ?  "  asked  Rebecca. 
"  Would  you  leave  me  if  you  could  ?  "  She  here 
fell  a-weeping,  begging  her  mistress  not  to  speak 
of  her  leaving.  "  But  if  I  should  tell  you  that  you 
are  free  to  go  or  stay,  as  you  will,  would  you  be 
glad  or  sorry  ? "  queried  her  mistress.  The  poor 
girl  was  silent.  "  I  do  not  wish  you  to  leave  me, 
Effie,"  said  Rebecca,  "  but  I  wish  you  to  know 
that  you  are  from  henceforth  free,  and  that  if  you 
serve  me  hereafter,  as  I  trust  you  will,  it  will  be 
in  love  and  good  will,  and  for  suitable  wages." 
The  bondswoman  did  not  at  the  first  comprehend 
the  design  of  her  mistress,  but,  011  hearing  it  ex 
plained  once  more,  she  dropped  down  on  her  knees, 
and  clasping  Rebecca,  poured  forth  her  thanks 
after  the  manner  of  her  people;  whereupon  Re 
becca,  greatly  moved,  bade  her  rise,  as  she  had 
only  done  what  the  Scriptures  did  require,  in  giv 
ing  to  her  servant  that  which  is  just  and  equal. 

"  How  easy  it  is  to  make  others  happy,  and  our 
selves  also ! "  she  said,  turning  to  me,  with  the 
tears  shining  in  her  eyes. 

August  8,  1678. 

Elnathan  Stone,  who  died  two  days  ago,  was 
buried  this  afternoon.  A  very  solemn  funeral,  — • 
Mr.  Richardson  preaching  a  sermon  from  the  23d 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          47 

Psalm,  4th  verse  :  "  Yea,  though  I  walk  through 
the  valley  of  the  shadoiv  of  death,  I  will  fear  no 
evil,  for  thou  art  with  me  ;  thy  rod  and  thy  staff, 
they  comfort  me.'1  Deacon  Dole  provided  the  wine 
and  spirits,  and  Uncle  Rawson  the  beer,  and  bread, 
and  fish  for  the  entertainment,  and  others  of  the 
neighbors  did,  moreover,  help  the  widow  to  sundry 
matters  of  clothing  suitable  for  the  occasion,  for 
she  was  very  poor,  and,  owing  to  the  long  captiv 
ity  and  sickness  of  her  son,  she  hath  been  much 
straitened  at  times.  I  am  told  that  Margaret 
Brewster  hath  been  like  an  angel  of  mercy  unto 
her,  watching  often  with  the  sick  man,  and  help 
ing  her  in  her  work,  so  that  the  poor  woman  is  now 
fain  to  confess  that  she  hath  a  good  and  kind 
heart.  A  little  time  before  Elnathan  died,  he  did 
earnestly  commend  the  said  Margaret  to  the  kind 
ness  of  Cousin  Rebecca,  entreating  her  to  make  in 
terest  with  the  magistrates,  and  others  in  author 
ity,  in  her  behalf,  that  they  might  be  merciful  to 
her  in  her  outgoings,  as  he  did  verily  think  they 
did  come  of  a  sense  of  duty,  albeit  mistaken.  Mr. 
Richardson,  who  hath  been  witness  to  her  gracious 
demeanor  and  charity,  and  who  saith  she  does 
thereby  shame  many  of  his  own  people,  hath  often 
sought  to  draw  her  away  from  the  new  doctrines, 
and  to  set  before  her  the  dangerous  nature  of  her 
errors ;  but  she  never  lacketh  answer  of  some  sort, 
being  naturally  of  good  parts,  and  well  read  in  the 
Scriptures. 

August  10. 

I  find  the  summer  here  greatly  unlike  that  of 
mine  own  country.     The  heat  is   great,  the  sun 


48          MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

shining  very  strong  and  bright ;  and  for  more  than 
a  month  it  hath  been  exceeding  dry,  without  any 
considerable  fall  of  rain,  so  that  the  springs  fail  in 
many  places,  and  the  watercourses  are  dried  up, 
which  doth  bring  to  mind  very  forcibly  the  lan 
guage  of  Job,  concerning  the  brooks  which  the 
drouth  consumeth :  "  What  time  they  wax  warm 
they  vanish;  when  it  is  hot  they  are  consumed 
out  of  their  place.  The  paths  of  their  loay  are 
turned  aside ;  they  go  to  nothing  and  perish" 
The  herbage  and  grass  have  lost  much  of  the 
brightness  which  they  did  wear  in  the  early  sum 
mer  ;  moreover,  there  be  fewer  flowers  to  be  seen. 
The  fields  and  roads  are  dusty,  and  all  things  do 
seem  to  faint  and  wax  old  under  the  intolerable 
sun.  Great  locusts  sing  sharp  in  the  hedges  and 
bushes,  and  grasshoppers  fly  up  in  clouds,  as  it  were, 
when  one  walks  over  the  dry  grass  which  they  feed 
upon,  and  at  nightfall  mosquitoes  are  no  small  tor 
ment.  Whenever  I  do  look  forth  at  noonday,  at 
which  time  the  air  is  all  aglow,  with  a  certain  glim 
mer  and  dazzle  like  that  from  an  hot  furnace,  and 
see  the  poor  fly-bitten  cattle  whisking  their  tails  to 
keep  off  the  venomous  insects,  or  standing  in  the 
water  of  the  low  grounds  for  coolness,  and  the 
panting  sheep  lying  together  under  the  shade  of 
trees,  I  must  needs  call  to  mind  the  summer  season 
of  old  England,  the  cool  sea  air,  the  soft-dropping 
showers,  the  fields  so  thick  with  grasses,  and 
skirted  with  hedge-rows  like  green  walls,  the  trees 
and  shrubs  all  clean  and  moist,  and  the  vines  and 
creepers  hanging  over  walls  and  gateways,  very 
plenteous  and  beautiful  to  behold.  Ah  me  !  often 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          49 

in  these  days  do  I  think  of  Hilton  Grange,  with 
its  great  oaks,  and.  cool  breezy  hills  and  meadows 
green  the  summer  long.  I  shut  mine  eyes,  and  lo  ! 
it  is  all  before  me  like  a  picture ;  I  see  mine  un 
cle's  gray  hairs  beneath  the  trees,  and  my  good 
aunt  standeth  in  the  doorway,  and  Cousin  Oliver 
comes  up  in  his  field-dress,  from  the  croft  or  the 
mill;  I  can  hear  his  merry  laugh,  and  the  sound 
of  his  horse's  hoofs  ringing  along  the  gravel-way. 
Our  sweet  Chaucer  telleth  of  a  mirror  in  the  which 
he  that  looked  did  see  all  his  past  life  ;  that  magi 
cal  mirror  is  no  fable,  for  in  the  memory  of  love 
old  things  do  return  and  show  themselves  as  fea 
tures  do  in  the  glass,  with  a  perfect  and  most  be 
guiling  likeness. 

Last  night,  Deacon  Dole's  Indian  —  One-eyed 
Tom,  a  surly  fellow  —  broke  into  his  master's 
shop,  where  he  made  himself  drunk  with  rum,  and, 
coming  to  the  house,  did  greatly  fright  the  women 
folk  by  his  threatening  words  and  gestures.  Now, 
the  Deacon  coming  home  late  from  the  church- 
meeting,  and  seeing  him  in  this  way,  wherreted 
him  smartly  with  his  cane,  whereupon  he  ran  off, 
and  came  up  the  road  howling  and  yelling  like  an 
evil  spirit.  Uncle  Eawson  sent  his  Irish  man-ser 
vant  to  see  what  caused  the  ado ;  but  he  straight 
way  came  running  back,  screaming  "  Murther ! 
murther  !  "  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  So  uncle  him 
self  went  to  the  gate,  and  presently  called  for  a 
light,  which  Rebecca  and  I  came  with,  inasmuch 
as  the  Irishman  and  Effie  dared  not  go  out.  We 
found  Tom  sitting  on  the  horse-block,  the  blood 
running  down  his  face,  and  much  bruised  and 


50          MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

swollen.  He  was  very  fierce  and  angry,  saying 
that  if  he  lived  a  month,  he  would  make  him  a  to 
bacco-pouch  of  the  Deacon's  scalp.  Rebecca  ven 
tured  to  chide  him  for  his  threats,  but  offered  to 
bind  up  his  head  for  him,  which  she  did  with  her 
own  kerchief.  Uncle  Rawson  then  bade  him  go 
home  and  get  to  bed,  and  in  future  let  alone  strong 
drink,  which  had  been  the  cause  of  his  beating. 
This  he  would  not  do,  but  went  off  into  the  woods, 
muttering  as  far  as  one  could  hear  him. 

This  morning  Deacon  Dole  came  in,  and  said 
his  servant  Tom  had  behaved  badly,  for  which  he 
did  moderately  correct  him,  and  that  he  did  there 
upon  run  away,  and  he  feared  he  should  lose  him. 
He  bought  him,  he  said,  of  Captain  Davenport, 
who  brought  him  from  the  Narragansett  country, 
paying  ten  pounds  and  six  shillings  for  him,  and 
he  could  ill  bear  so  great  a  loss.  I  ventured  to 
tell  him  that  it  was  wrong  to  hold  any  man,  even 
an  Indian  or  Guinea  black,  as  a  slave.  My  uncle, 
who  saw  that  my  plainness  was  not  well  taken, 
bade  me  not  meddle  with  matters  beyond  my 
depth ;  and  Deacon  Dole,  looking  very  surly  at 
me,  said  I  was  a  forward  one  ;  that  he  had  noted 
that  I  did  wear  a  light  and  idle  look  in  the  meet 
ing-house  ;  and,  pointing  with  his  cane  to  my  hair, 
he  said  I  did  render  myself  liable  to  presentment 
by  the  Grand  Jury  for  a  breach  of  the  statute  of 
the  General  Court,  made  the  year  before,  against 
"  the  immodest  laying  out  of  the  hair,"  &c.  He 
then  went  on  to  say  that  he  had  lived  to  see  strange 
times,  when  such  as  I  did  venture  to  oppose  them 
selves  to  sober  and  grave  people,  and  to  despise 
authority,  and  encourage  rebellion  and  disorder: 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          51 

and  bade  me  take  heed  lest  all  such  be  numbered 
with  the  cursed  children  which  the  Apostle  did  re 
buke  :  "  Who,  as  natural  brute  beasts,  speak  evil 
of  things  they  understand  not,  and  shall  utterly 
perish  in  their  corruption"  My  dear  Cousin  Re 
becca  here  put  in  a  word  in  my  behalf,  and  told 
the  Deacon  that  Tom's  misbehavior  did  all  grow 
out  of  the  keeping  of  strong  liquors  for  sale.,  and 
that  he  was  wrong  to  beat  him  so  cruelly,  seeing 
that  he  did  himself  place  the  temptation  before 
him.  Thereupon  the  Deacon  rose  up  angrily,  bid 
ding  uncle  look  well  to  his  forward  household. 
"  Nay,  girls,"  quoth  mine  uncle,  after  his  neighbor 
had  left  the  house,  "  you  have  angered  the  good 
man  sorely."  —  "  Never  heed,"  said  Rebecca, 
laughing  and  clapping  her  hands,  "he  hath  got 
something  to  think  of  more  profitable,  I  trow,  than 
Cousin  Margaret's  hair  or  looks  in  meeting.  He 
has  been  tything  of  mint  and  anise  and  cummin 
long  enough,  and  't  is  high  time  for  him  to  look 
after  the  weightier  matters  of  the  law." 

The  selling  of  beer  and  strong  liquors,  Mr. 
Sewall  says,  hath  much  increased  since  the  trou 
bles  of  the  Colony  and  the  great  Indian  war.  The 
General  Court  do  take  some  care  to  grant  licenses 
only  to  discreet  persons ;  but  much  liquor  is  sold 
without  warrant.  For  mine  own  part,  I  think  old 
Chaucer  hath  it  right  in  his  Pardoner's  Tale :  — 

"  A  likerous  thing1  is  wine,  and  drunkenness 
Is  full  of  striving1  and  of  wretchedness. 
O  drunken  man  !   disfigured  is  thy  face, 
Sour  is  thy  breath,  foul  art  thou  to  embrace  ; 
Thy  tongue  is  lost,  and  all  thine  honest  care, 
For  drunkenness  is  very  sepulture 
Of  man's  wit  and  his  discretion." 


52          MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

AGAMENTICUS,  August  18. 

The  weather  being  clear  and  the  heat  great,  last 
week  uncle  and  aunt,  with  Rebecca  and  myself, 
and  also  Leonard  and  Sir  Thomas,  thought  it  a 
fitting  time  to  make  a  little  journey  by  water  to 
the  Isles  of  Shoals,  and  the  Agamenticus,  where 
dwelleth  my  Uncle  Smith,  who  hath  strongly 
pressed  me  to  visit  him.  One  Caleb  Powell,  a  sea 
faring  man,  having  a  good  new  boat,  with  a  small 
cabin,  did  undertake  to  convey  us.  He  is  a  droll 
ing  odd  fellow,  who  hath  been  in  all  parts  of  the 
world,  and  hath  seen  and  read  much,  and,  having 
a  rare  memory,  is  not  ill  company,  although  uncle 
saith  one  must  make  no  small  allowance  for  his  de 
sire  of  making  his  hearers  marvel  at  his  stories  and 
conceits.  We  sailed  with  a  good  westerly  wind 
down  the  river,  passing  by  the  great  salt  marshes, 
which  stretch  a  long  way  by  the  sea,  and  in  which 
the  town's  people  be  now  very  busy  in  mowing  and 
gathering  the  grass  for  winter's  use.  Leaving  on 
our  right  hand  Plum  Island  (so  called  on  account 
of  the  rare  plums  which  do  grow  upon  it),  we 
struck  into  the  open  sea,  and  soon  came  in  sight  of 
the  Islands  of  Shoals.  There  be  seven  of  them  in 
all,  lying  off  the  town  of  Hampton  on  the  main 
land,  about  a  league.  We  landed  on  that  called 
the  Star,  and  were  hospitably  entertained  through 
the  day  and  night  by  Mr.  Abbott,  an  old  inhabi 
tant  of  the  islands,  and  largely  employed  in  fisher 
ies  and  trade,  and  with  whom  uncle  had  some  busi 
ness.  In  the  afternoon  Mr.  Abbott's  son  rowed 
us  about  among  the  islands,  and  showed  us  the 
manner  of  curing  the  dun-fish,  for  which  the  place 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          53 

is  famed.  They  split  the  fishes,  and  lay  them  on 
the  rocks  in  the  sun,  using  little  salt,  but  turning 
them  often.  There  is  a  court-house  on  the  biggest 
island,  and  a  famous  school,  to  which  many  of  the 
planters  on  the  main-land  do  send  their  children. 
We  noted  a  great  split  in  the  rocks,  where,  when 
the  Indians  came  to  the  islands  many  years  ago, 
and  killed  some  and  took  others  captive,  one  Betty 
Moody  did  hide  herself,  and  which  is  hence  called 
Betty  Moody 's  Hole.  Also,  the  pile  of  rocks  set 
up  by  the  noted  Captain  John  Smith,  when  he  did 
take  possession  of  the  Isles  in  the  year  1614.  We 
saw  our  old  acquaintance  Peckanaminet  and  his 
wife,  in  a  little  birch  canoe,  fishing  a  short  way  off. 
Mr.  Abbott  says  he  well  recollects  the  time  when 
the  Agawams  were  wellnigh  cut  off  by  the  Tarra- 
tine  Indians ;  for  that  early  one  morning,  hearing 
a  loud  yelling  and  whooping,  he  went  out  on  the 
point  of  the  rocks,  and  saw  a  great  fleet  of  canoes 
filled  with  Indians,  going  back  from  Agawam,  and 
the  noise  they  made  he  took  to  be  their  rejoicing 
over  their  victory. 

In  the  evening  a  cold  easterly  wind  began  to 
blow,  and  it  brought  in  from  the  ocean  a  damp  fog, 
so  that  we  were  glad  to  get  within  doors.  Sir 
Thomas  entertained  us  by  his  lively  account  of 
things  in  Boston,  and  of  a  journey  he  had  made  to 
the  Providence  plantations.  He  then  asked  us  if 
it  was  true,  as  he  had  learned  from  Mr.  Mather, 
of  Boston,  that  there  was  an  house  in  Newbury 
dolefully  beset  by  Satan's  imps,  and  that  the  fam 
ily  could  get  no  sleep  because  of  the  doings  of  evil 
spirits.  Uncle  Rawson  said  he  did  hear  something 


54  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

of  it,  and  that  Mr.  Richardson  had  been  sent  for 
to  pray  against  the  mischief.  Yet  as  he  did  count 
Goody  Morse  a  poor  silly  woman,  he  should  give 
small  heed  to  her  story  ;  but  here  was  her  near 
neighbor,  Caleb  Powell,  who  could  doubtless  tell 
more  concerning  it.  Whereupon,  Caleb  said  it  was 
indeed  true  that  there  was  a  very  great  disturbance 
in  Goodman  Morse's  house ;  doors  opening  and 
shutting,  household  stuff  whisked  out  of  the  room, 
and  then  falling  down  the  chimney,  and  divers 
other  strange  things,  many  of  which  he  had  him 
self  seen.  Yet  he  did  believe  it  might  be  ac 
counted  for  in  a  natural  way,  especially  as  the  old 
couple  had  a  wicked,  graceless  boy  living  with 
them,  who  might  be  able  to  do  the  tricks  by  his 
great  subtlety  and  cunning.  Sir  Thomas  said  it 
might  be  the  boy  ;  but  that  Mr.  Josselin,  who  had 
travelled  much  hereabout,  had  told  him  that  the 
Indians  did  practise  witchcraft,  —  and  that,  now 
they  were  beaten  in  war,  he  feared  they  would 
betake  themselves  to  it,  and  so  do  by  their  devil 
ish  wisdom  what  they  could  not  do  by  force  ;  and 
verily  this  did  look  much  like  the  beginning  of 
their  enchantments.  "  That  the  Devil  helpeth  the 
heathen  in  this  matter,  I  do  myself  know  for  a 
certainty,"  said  Caleb  Powell ;  "  for  when  I  was  at 
Port  Royal,  many  years  ago,  I  did  see  with  mine 
eyes  the  burning  of  an  old  negro  wizard,  who  had 
done  to  death  many  of  the  whites,  as  well  as  his 
own  people,  by  a  charm  which  he  brought  with  him 
from  the  Guinea  country."  Mr.  Hull,  the  minister 
of  the  place,  who  was  a  lodger  in  the  house,  said 
he  had  heard  one  Foxwell,  a  reputable  planter  at 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          55 

Saco,  lately  deceased,  tell  of  a  strange  affair  that 
did  happen  to  himself,  in  a  voyage  to  the  eastward. 
Being  in  a  small  shallop,  and  overtaken  by  the 
night,  he  lay  at  anchor  a  little  way  off  the  shore, 
fearing  to  land  on  account  of  the  Indians.  Now, 
it  did  chance  that  they  were  waked  about  midnight 
by  a  loud  voice  from  the  land,  crying  out,  Foxwell, 
come  ashore  !  three  times  over ;  whereupon,  look 
ing  to  see  from  whence  the  voice  did  come,  they 
beheld  a  great  circle  of  fire  on  the  beach,  and  men 
and  women  dancing  about  it  in  a  ring.  Presently 
they  vanished,  and  the  fire  was  quenched  also.  In 
the  morning  he  landed,  but  found  no  Indians  nor 
English,  only  brands'  ends  cast  up  by  the  waves  ; 
and  he  did  believe,  unto  the  day  of  his  death,  that 
it  was  a  piece  of  Indian  sorcery.  "  There  be 
strange  stories  told  of  Passaconaway,  the  chief  of 
the  Kiver  Indians,"  he  continued.  "  I  have  heard 
one  say  who  saw  it,  that  once,  at  the  Patucket 
Falls,  this  chief,  boasting  of  his  skill  in  magic, 
picked  up  a  dry  skin  of  a  snake,  which  had  been 
cast  off,  as  is  the  wont  of  the  reptile,  and  making 
some  violent  motions  of  his  body,  and  calling  upon 
his  Familiar,  or  Demon,  he  did  presently  cast  it 
down  upon  the  rocks,  and  it  became  a  great  black 
serpent,  which  mine  informant  saw  crawl  off  into 
some  bushes,  very  nimble.  This  Passaconaway 
was  accounted  by  his  tribe  to  be  a  very  cunning 
conjurer,  and  they  do  believe  that  he  could  brew 
storms,  make  water  burn,  and  cause  green  leaves 
to  grow  on  trees  in  the  winter ;  and,  in  brief,  it 
may  be  said  of  him,  that  he  was  not  a  whit  behind 
the  magicians  of  Egypt  in  the  time  of  Moses," 


56  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

"  There    be  women  in  the  cold   regions  about 

O 

Norway,"  said  Caleb  Powell,  "  as  I  have  heard  the 
sailors  relate,  who  do  raise  storms  and  sink  boats 
at  their  will." 

"  It  may  well  be,"  quoth  Mr.  Hull,  "  since  Satan 
is  spoken  of  as  the  prince  and  power  of  the  air." 

"  The  profane  writers  of  old  time  do  make  men 
tion  of  such  sorceries,"  said  Uncle  Rawson.  "  It 
is  long  since  I  have  read  any  of  them  ;  but  Virgil 
and  Apulius  do,  if  I  mistake  not,  speak  of  this 
power  over  the  elements." 

"  Do  you  not  remember,  father,"  said  Rebecca, 
"  some  verses  of  Tibullus,  in  which  he  speaketh  of 
a  certain  enchantress?  Some  one  hath  rendered 
them  thus :  — 

"  '  Her  with  charms  drawing-  stars  from  heaven,  I, 
And  turning1  the  course  of  rivers,  did  espy. 
She  parts  the  earth,  and  ghosts  from  sepulchres 
Draws  up,  and  fetcheth  bones  away  from  fires, 
And  at  her  pleasure  scatters  clouds  in  the  air, 
And  makes  it  snow  in  summer  hot  and  fair. '  ' 

Here  Sir  Thomas  laughingly  told  Rebecca,  that 
he  did  put  more  faith  in  what  these  old  writers  did 
tell  of  the  magic  arts  of  the  sweet-singing  sirens, 
and  of  Circe  and  her  enchantments,  and  of  the  II- 
lyrian  maidens,  so  wonderful  in  their  beauty,  who 
did  kill  with  their  looks  such  as  they  were  angry 
with. 

"  It  was,  perhaps,  for  some  such  reason,"  said 
Rebecca,  "that,  as  Mr.  Abbott  tells  me,  the  Gen 
eral  Court  many  years  ago  did  forbid  women  to 
live  on  these  islands." 

"  Pray,  how  was  that  ?  "  asked  Sir  Thomas. 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          57 

"  You  must  know,"  answered  our  host,  "  that  in 
the  early  settlement  of  the  Shoals,  vessels  coming 
for  fish  upon  this  coast  did  here  make  their  har 
bor,  bringing  hither  many  rude  sailors  of  different 
nations ;  and  the  Court  judged  that  it  was  not  a 
fitting  place  for  women,  and  so  did  by  law  forbid 
their  dwelling  on  the  islands  belonging  to  the  Mas 
sachusetts." 

He  then  asked  his  wife  to  get  the  order  of  the 
Court  concerning  her  stay  on  the  islands,  remark 
ing  that  he  did  bring  her  over  from  the  Maine  in 
despite  of  the  law.  So  his  wife  fetched  it,  and 
Uncle  Rawson  read  it,  it  being  to  this  effect,  — 
"  That  a  petition  having  been  sent  to  the  Court, 
praying  that  the  law  might  be  put  in  force  in  re 
spect  to  John  Abbott  his  wife,  the  Court  do  judge 
it  meet,  if  no  further  complaint  come  against  her, 
that  she  enjoy  the  company  of  her  husband." 
Whereat  we  all  laughed  heartily. 

Next  morning,  the  fog  breaking  away  early,  we 
set  sail  for  Agamenticus,  running  along  the  coast 
and  off  the  mouth  of  the  Piscataqua  River,  pass 
ing  near  where  my  lamented  Uncle  Edward  dwelt, 
whose  fame  as  a  worthy  gentleman  and  magistrate 
is  still  living.  We  had  Mount  Agamenticus  be 
fore  us  all  day,  —  a  fair  stately  hill,  rising  up  as 
it  were  from  the  water.  Towards  night  a  smart 
shower  came  on,  with  thunderings  and  lightnings 
such  as  I  did  never  see  or  hear  before ;  and  the 
wind  blowing  and  a  great  rain  driving  upon  us,  we 
were  for  a  time  in  much  peril ;  but,  through  God's 
mercy,  it  suddenly  cleared  up,  and  we  went  into 
the  Agamenticus  River  with  a  bright  sun.  Before 


58  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

dark  we  got  to  the  house  of  my  honored  uncle, 
where,  he  not  being  at  home,  his  wife  and  daugh 
ters  did  receive  us  kindly. 

September  10. 

I  do  find  myself  truly  comfortable  at  this  place. 
My  two  cousins,  Polly  and  Thankful,  are  both 
young,  unmarried  women,  very  kind  and  pleasant, 
and,  since  my  Newbury  friends  left,  I  have  been 
learning  of  them  many  things  pertaining  to  house 
keeping,  albeit  I  am  still  but  a  poor  scholar. 
Uncle  is  Marshall  of  the  Province,  which  takes 
him  much  from  home  ;  and  aunt,  who  is  a  sickly 
woman,  keeps  much  in  her  chamber  ;  so  that  the 
affairs  of  the  household  and  of  the  plantation  do 
mainly  rest  upon  the  young  women.  If  ever  I  get 
back  to  Hilton  Grange  again,  I  shall  have  tales  to 
tell  of  my  baking  and  brewing,  of  my  pumpkin- 
pies,  and  bread  made  of  the  flour  of  the  Indian 
corn  ;  yea,  more,  of  gathering  of  the  wild  fruit  in 
the  woods,  and  cranberries  in  the  meadows,  milk 
ing  the  cows,  and  looking  after  the  pigs  and  barn 
yard  fowls.  Then,  too,  we  have  had  many  pleas 
ant  little  journeys  by  water  and  on  horseback, 
young  Mr.  Jordan,  of  Spurwink,  who  hath  asked 
Polly  in  marriage,  going  with  us.  A  right  comely 
youth  he  is,  but  a  great  Churchman,  as  might  be 
expected,  his  father  being  the  minister  of  the 
Black  Point  people,  and  very  bitter  towards  the 
Massachusetts  and  its  clergy  and  government. 
My  uncle,  who  meddles  little  with  Church  matters, 
thinks  him  a  hopeful  young  man,  and  not  an  ill 
suitor  for  his  daughter.  He  hath  been  in  England 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          59 

for  his  learning,  and  is  accounted  a  scholar ;  but, 
although  intended  for  the  Church  service,  he  in- 
clineth  more  to  the  life  of  a  planter,  and  taketh 
the  charge  of  his  father's  plantation  at  Spurwink. 
Polly  is  not  beautiful  and  graceful  like  Rebecca 
Rawson,  but  she  hath  freshness  of  youth  and 
health,  and  a  certain  good-heartedness  of  look  and 
voice,  and  a  sweetness  of  temper  which  do  com 
mend  her  in  the  eyes  of  all.  Thankful  is  older  by 
some  years,  and,  if  not  as  cheerful  and  merry  as 
her  sister,  it  needs  not  be  marvelled  at,  since  one 
whom  she  loved  was  killed  in  the  Narragansett 
country  two  years  ago.  O  these  bloody  wars ! 
There  be  few  in  these  Eastern  Provinces  who  have 
not  been  called  to  mourn  the  loss  of  some  near  and 
dear  friend,  so  that  of  a  truth  the  land  mourns. 

September  18. 

Meeting  much  disturbed  yesterday,  —  a  ranting 
Quaker  coming  in  and  sitting  with  his  hat  on  in 
sermon  time,  humming  and  groaning,  and  rocking 
his  body  to  and  fro  like  one  possessed.  After  a 
time  he  got  up,  and  pronounced  a  great  woe  upon 
the  priests,  calling  them  many  hard  names,  and  de 
claring  that  the  whole  land  stank  with  their  hy 
pocrisy.  Uncle  spake  sharply  to  him,  and  bid  him 
hold  his  peace,  but  he  only  cried  out  the  louder. 
Some  young  men  then  took  hold  of  him,  and  car 
ried  him  out.  They  brought  him  along  close  to 
my  seat,  he  hanging  like  a  bag  of  meal,  with  his 
eyes  shut,  as  ill-favored  a  body  as  I  ever  beheld. 
The  magistrates  had  him  smartly  whipped  this 
morning,  and  sent  out  of  the  jurisdiction.  I  was 


60  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

told  he  was  no  true  Quaker  ;  for,  although  a  noisy, 
brawling  hanger-on  at  their  meetings,  he  is  not  in 
fellowship  with  the  more  sober  and  discreet  of  that 
people. 

Rebecca  writes  me  that  the  witchcraft  in  Wil 
liam  Morse's  house  is  much  talked  of,  and  that 
Caleb  Powell  hath  been  complained  of  as  the  wiz 
ard.  Mr.  Jordan  the  elder  says  he  does  in  no  wise 
marvel  at  the  Devil's  power  in  the  Massachusetts, 
since  at  his  instigation  the  rulers  and  ministers  of 
the  Colony  have  set  themselves  against  the  true 
and  Gospel  order  of  the  Church,  and  do  slander 
and  persecute  all  who  will  not  worship  at  their  con 
venticles. 

A  Mr.  Van  Valken,  a  young  gentleman  of 
Dutch  descent,  and  the  agent  of  Mr.  Edmund  An- 
dross,  of  the  Duke  of  York's  Territory,  is  now  in 
this  place,  being  entertained  by  Mr.  Godfrey,  the 
late  Deputy-Governor.  He  brought  a  letter  for 
me  from  Aunt  Rawson,  whom  he  met  in  Boston. 
He  is  a  learned,  serious  man,  hath  travelled  a  good 
deal,  and  hath  an  air  of  high  breeding.  The  min 
ister  here  thinks  him  a  Papist,  and  a  Jesuit,  espe 
cially  as  he  hath  not  called  upon  him,  nor  been  to 
the  meeting.  He  goes  soon  to  Pemaquid,  to  take 
charge  of  that  fort  and  trading  station,  which  have 
greatly  suffered  by  the  war. 

September  30. 

Yesterday,  Cousin  Polly  and  myself,  with  young 
Mr.  Jordan,  went  up  to  the  top  of  the  mountain, 
which  is  some  miles  from  the  harbor.  It  is  not 
hard  to  climb  in  respect  to  steepness,  but  it  is  so 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          61 

tangled  with  bushes  and  vines,  that  one  can  scarce 
break  through  them.  The  open  places  were  yellow 
with  golden-rods,  and  the  pale  asters  were  plenty 
in  the  shade,  and  by  the  side  of  the  brooks,  that 
with  pleasing  noise  did  leap  down  the  hill.  When 
we  got  upon  the  top,  which  is  bare  and  rocky,  we 
had  a  fair  view  of  the  coast,  with  its  many  wind 
ings  and  its  islands,  from  the  Cape  Ann,  near  Bos 
ton,  to  the  Cape  Elizabeth,  near  Casco,  the  Piscat- 
aqua  and  Agamenticus  rivers ;  and  away  in  the 
northwest  we  could  see  the  peaks  of  mountains 
looking  like  summer  clouds  or  banks  of  gray  fog. 
These  mountains  lie  many  leagues  off  in  the  wil 
derness,  and  are  said  to  be  exceeding  lofty. 

But  I  must  needs  speak  of  the  color  of  the 
woods,  which  did  greatly  amaze  me,  as  unlike  any 
thing  I  had  ever  seen  in  old  England.  As  far  as 
mine  eyes  could  look,  the  mighty  wilderness,  under 
the  bright  westerly  sun,  and  stirred  by  a  gentle 
wind,  did  seem  like  a  garden  in  its  season  of  flow 
ering  ;  green,  dark,  and  light,  orange,  and  pale 
yellow,  and  crimson  leaves,  mingling  and  inter 
weaving  their  various  hues,  in  a  manner  truly  won 
derful  to  behold.  It  is  owing,  I  am  told,  to  the 
sudden  frosts,  which  in  this  •  climate  do  smite  the 
vegetation  in  its  full  life  and  greenness,  so  that  in 
the  space  of  a  few  days  the  colors  of  the  leaves  are 
marvellously  changed  and  brightened.  These  col 
ors  did  remind  me  of  the  stains  of  the  windows  of 
old  churches,  and  of  rich  tapestry.  The  maples 
were  all  aflame  with  crimson,  the  walnuts  were 
orange,  the  hemlocks  and  cedars  were  wellnigh 
black ;  while  the  slender  birches,  with  their  pale 


62  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

yellow  leaves,  seemed  painted  upon  them  as  pic 
tures  are  laid  upon  a  dark  ground.  I  gazed  until 
mine  eyes  grew  weary,  and  a  sense  of  the  wonder 
ful  beauty  of  the  visible  creation,  and  of  God's 
great  goodness  to  the  children  of  men  therein,  did 
rest  upon  me,  and  I  said  in  mine  heart,  with  one 
of  old  :  "  O  Lord  !  how  manifold  are  thy  works  ." 
in  wisdom  hast  thou  made  them  all,  and  the  earth 
is  full  of  thy  riches" 

October  6. 

Walked  out  to  the  iron  mines,  a  great  hole 
digged  in  the  rocks,  many  years  ago,  for  the  find 
ing  of  iron.  Aunt,  who  was  then  just  settled  in 
housekeeping,  told  me  many  wonderful  stories  of 
the  man  who  caused  it  to  be  digged,  a  famous  doc 
tor  of  physic,  and,  as  it  seems,  a  great  wizard  also. 
He  bought  a  patent  of  land  on  the  south  side  of 
the  Saco  Eiver,  four  miles  by  the  sea,  and  eight 
miles  up  into  the  main-land  of  Mr.  Vines,  the  first 
owner  thereof  ;  and  being  curious  in  the  seeking 
and  working  of  metals,  did  promise  himself  great 
riches  in  this  new  country  ;  but  his  labors  came  to 
nothing,  although  it  was  said  that  Satan  helped 
him,  in  the  shape  of  a  little  blackamoor  man-ser 
vant,  who  was  his  constant  familiar.  My  aunt 
says  she  did  often  see  him,  wandering  about  among 
the  hills  and  woods,  and  along  the  banks  of  streams 
of  water,  searching  for  precious  ores  and  stones. 
He  had  even  been  as  far  as  the  great  mountains, 
beyond  Pigwackett,  climbing  to  the  top  thereof, 
where  the  snows  lie  wellnigh  all  the  year,  his  way 
thither  lying  through  doleful  swamps  and  lonesome 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          63 

woods.  He  was  a  great  friend  of  the  Indians,  who 
held  him  to  be  a -more  famous  conjurer  than  their 
own  powahs ;  and,  indeed,  he  was  learned  in  all 
curious  and  occult  arts,  having  studied  at  the  great 
College  of  Padua,  and  travelled  in  all  parts  of  the 
old  countries.  He  sometimes  stopped  in  his  trav 
els  at  my  uncle's  house,  the  little  blackamoor 
sleeping  in  the  barn,  for  my  aunt  feared  him,  as 
he  was  reputed  to  be  a  wicked  imp.  Now  it  so 
chanced  that  on  one  occasion  my  uncle  had  lost  a 
cow,  and  had  searched  the  woods  many  days  for 
her  to  no  purpose,  when,  this  noted  doctor  coming 
in,  he  besought  him  to  find  her  out  by  his  skill  and 
learning ;  but  he  did  straightway  deny  his  power 
to  do  so,  saying  he  was  but  a  poor  scholar,  and 
lover  of  science,  and  had  no  greater  skill  in  occult 
matters  than  any  one  might  attain  to  by  patient 
study  of  natural  things.  But  as  mine  uncle  would 
in  no  wise  be  so  put  off,  and  still  pressing  him  to 
try  his  art,  he  took  a  bit  of  coal,  and  began  to 
make  marks  on  the  floor,  in  a  very  careless  way. 
Then  he  made  a  black  dot  in  the  midst,  and  bade 
my  uncle  take  heed  that  his  cow  was  lying  dead  in 
that  spot ;  and  my  uncle  looking  at  it,  said  he 
could  find  her,  for  he  now  knew  where  she  was,  in 
asmuch  as  the  doctor  had  made  a  fair  map  of  the 
country  round  about  for  many  miles.  So  he  set 
off,  and  found  the  cow  lying  at  the  foot  of  a  great 
tree,  close  beside  a  brook,  she  being  quite  dead, 
which  thing  did  show  that  he  was  a  magician  of  no 
mean  sort. 

My  aunt  further  said,  that  in  those  days  there 
was   great   talk   of    mines   of   gold    and   precious 


64          MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

stones,  and  many  people  spent  all  their  substance 
in  wandering  about  over  the  wilderness  country 
seeking  a  fortune  in  this  way.  There  was  one  old 
man,  who,  she  remembered,  did  roam  about  seek 
ing  for  hidden  treasures,  until  he  lost  his  wits,  and 
might  be  seen  filling  a  bag  with  bright  stones  and 
shining  sand,  muttering  and  laughing  to  himself. 
He  was  at  last  missed  for  some  little  time,  when  he 
was  found  lying  dead  in  the  woods,  still  holding 
fast  in  his  hands  his  bag  of  pebbles. 

On  my  querying  whether  any  did  find  treasures 
hereabout,  my  aunt  laughed,  and  said  she  never 
heard  of  but  one  man  who  did  so,  and  that  was  old 
Peter  Preble  of  Saco,  who,  growing  rich  faster 
than  his  neighbors,  was  thought  to  owe  his  fortune 
to  the  finding  of  a  gold  or  silver  mine.  When  he 
was  asked  about  it,  he  did  by  no  means  deny  it, 
but  confessed  he  had  found  treasures  in  the  sea  as 
well  as  on  the  land  ;  and,  pointing  to  his  loaded 
fish-flakes  and  his  great  cornfields,  said,  "  Here  are 
my  mines."  So  that  afterwards,  when  any  one 
prospered  greatly  in  his  estate,  it  was  said  of  him 
by  his  neighbors,  "  He  has  been  working  Peter 
Preble's  mine." 

October  8. 

Mr.  Van  Valken,  the  Dutchman,  had  before 
Mr.  Rish worth,  one  of  the  Commissioners  of  the 
Province,  charged  with  being  a  Papist  and  a  Jes 
uit.  He  bore  himself,  I  am  told,  haughtily  enough, 
denying  the  right  to  call  him  in  question,  and 
threatening  the  interference  of  his  friend  and  ruler, 

O 

Sir  Edmund,  on  account  of  the  wrong  done  him. 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          65 

My  uncle  and  others  did  testify  that  he  was  a  civil 
and  courteous  ge'ntleman,  not  intermeddling  with 
matters  of  a  religious  nature  ;  and  that  they  did 
regard  it  as  a^  foul  shame  to  the  town  that  he 
should  be  molested  in  this  wise.  But  the  minister 
put  them  to  silence,  by  testifying  that  he  (Van 
Valken)  had  given  away  sundry  Papist  books ; 
and,  one  of  them  being  handed  to  the  Court,  it 
proved  to  be  a  Latin  Treatise,  by  a  famous  Papist, 
intituled,  "  The  Imitation  of  Christ."  Hereupon, 
Mr.  Godfrey  asked  if  there  was  aught  evil  in  the 
book.  The  minister  said  it  was  written  by  a  monk, 
and  was  full  of  heresy,  favoring  both  the  Qua 
kers  and  the  Papists  ;  but  Mr.  Godfrey  told  him  it 
had  been  rendered  into  the  English  tongue,  and 
printed  some  years  before  in  the  Massachusetts 
Bay ;  and  asked  him  if  he  did  accuse  such  men  as 
Mr.  Cotton  and  Mr.  Wilson,  and  the  pious  minis 
ters  of  their  day,  of  heresy.  "  Nay,"  quoth  the 
minister,  "  they  did  see  the  heresy  of  the  book,  and, 
on  their  condemning  it,  the  General  Court  did  for 
bid  its  sale."  Mr.  Eishworth  hereupon  said  he 
did  judge  the  book  to  be  pernicious,  and  bade  the 
constable  burn  it  in  the  street,  which  he  did.  Mr. 
Van  Valken,  after  being  gravely  admonished,  was 
set  free  ;  and  he  now  saith  he  is  no  Papist,  but 
that  he  would  not  have  said  that  much  to  the 
Court  to  save  his  life,  inasmuch  as  he  did  deny  its 
right  of  arraigning  him.  Mr.  Godfrey  says  the 
treatment  whereof  he  complains  is  but  a  sample 
of  what  the  people  hereaway  are  to  look  for  from 
the  Massachusetts  jurisdiction.  Mr.  Jordan,  the 
younger,  says  his  father  hath  a  copy  of  the  con- 


66          MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

demned  book,  of  the  Boston  printing  ;  and  I  being 
curious  to  see  it,  he  offers  to  get  it  for  me. 

Like  unto  Newbury,  this  is  an  old  town  for  so 
new  a  country.  It  was  made  a  city  in  1642,  and 
took  the  name  of  Gorgeana,  after  that  of  the  lord 
proprietor,  Sir  Ferdinando  Gorges.  The  govern- 
ment  buildings  are  spacious,  but  now  falling  into 
decay  somewhat.  There  be  a  few  stone  houses, 
but  the  major  part  are  framed,  or  laid  up  with 
square  logs.  The  look  of  the  land  a  little  out  of 
the  town  is  rude  and  unpleasing,  being  much  cov 
ered  with  stones  and  stumps ;  yet  the  soil  is  said 
to  be  strong,  and  the  pear  and  apple  do  flourish 
well  here ;  also  they  raise  rye,  oats,  and  barley, 
and  the  Indian  corn,  and  abundance  of  turnips,  as 
well  as  pumpkins,  squashes,  and  melons.  The 
war  with  the  Indians,  and  the  troubles  and  changes 
of  government,  have  pressed  heavily  upon  this  and 
other  towns  of  the  Maine,  so  that  I  am  told  that 
there  be  now  fewer  wealthy  planters  here  than 
there  were  twenty  years  ago,  and  little  increase  of 
sheep  or  horned  cattle.  The  people  do  seem  to 
me  less  sober  and  grave,  in  their  carriage  and  con 
versation,  than  they  of  the  Massachusetts,  —  hunt 
ing,  fishing,  and  fowling  more,  and  working  on 
the  land  less.  Nor  do  they  keep  the  Lord's  Day 
so  strict ;  many  of  the  young  people  going  abroad, 
both  riding  and  walking,  visiting  each  other,  and 
diverting  themselves,  especially  after  the  meetings 
are  over. 

October  9. 

Goodwife   Nowell,  an    ancient  gossip  of  mine 
aunt's,  looking  in  this  morning,  and  talking  of  the 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL  67 

trial  of  the  Dutchman,  Van  Valken,  spake  of  the 
coming  into  these  parts  many  years  ago  of  one  Sir 
Christopher  Gardiner,  who  was  thought  to  be  a 
Papist.  He  sought  lodgings  at  her  house  for  one 
whom  he  called  his  cousin,  a  fair  young  woman, 
together  with  her  serving  girl,  who  did  attend  upon 
her.  She  tarried  about  a  month,  seeing  no  one, 
and  going  out  only  towards  the  evening,  accompa 
nied  by  her  servant.  She  spake  little,  but  did  seem 
melancholy  and  exceeding  mournful,  often  crying 
very  bitterly.  Sir  Christopher  came  only  once  to 
see  her,  and  Good  wife  No  well  saith  she  well  remem 
bers  seeing  her  take  leave  of  him  on  the  roadside, 
and  come  back  weeping  and  sobbing  dolefully  ; 
and  that  a  little  time  after,  hearing  that  he  had 
gotten  into  trouble  in  Boston  as  a  Papist  and  man 
of  loose  behavior,  she  suddenly  took  her  departure 
in  a  vessel  sailing  for  the  Massachusetts,  leaving  to 
her,  in  pay  for  house-room  and  diet,  a  few  coins,  a 
gold  cross,  and  some  silk  stuffs  and  kerchiefs. 
The  cross  being  such  as  the  Papists  do  worship, 
and  therefore  unlawful,  her  husband  did  beat  it 
into  a  solid  wedge  privately,  and  kept  it  from  the 
knowledge  of  the  minister  and  the  magistrates. 
But  as  the  poor  man  never  prospered  after,  but 
lost  his  cattle  and  grain,  and  two  of  their  children 
dying  of  measles  the  next  year,  and  he  himself 
being  sickly,  and  near  his  end,  he  spake  to  her  of 
the  golden  cross,  saying  that  he  did  believe  it  was 
a  great  sin  to  keep  it,  as  he  had  done,  and  that 
it  had  wrought  evil  upon  him,  even  as  the  wedge 
of  gold,  and  the  shekels,  and  Babylonish  garment 
did  upon  Achan,  who  was  stoned,  with  all  his 


68  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

house,  in  the  valley  of  Achor ;  and  the  minister 
coming  in,  and  being  advised  concerning  it,  he 
judged  that  although  it  might  be  a  sin  to  keep  it 
hidden  from  a  love  of  riches,  it  might,  neverthe 
less,  be  safely  used  to  support  Gospel  preaching 
and  ordinances,  and  so  did  himself  take  it  away. 
The  goodwife  says,  that  notwithstanding  her  hus 
band  died  soon  after,  yet  herself  and  household 
did  from  thenceforth  begin  to  amend  their  estate 
and  condition. 

Seeing  me  curious  concerning  this  Sir  Christo 
pher  and  his  cousin,  Goodwife  Nowell  said  there 
was  a  little  parcel  of  papers  which  she  found  in 
her  room  after  the  young  woman  went  away,  and 
she  thought  they  might  yet  be  in  some  part  of  her 
house,  though  she  had  not  seen  them  for  a  score  of 
years.  Thereupon,  I  begged  of  her  to  look  for 
them,  which  she  promised  to  do. 

October  14. 

A  strange  and  wonderful  providence !  Last 
night  there  was  a  great  company  of  the  neighbors 
at  my  uncle's,  to  help  him  in  the  husking  and  strip 
ping  of  the  corn,  as  is  the  custom  in  these  parts. 
The  barn-floor  was  about  half -filled  with  the  corn  in 
its  dry  leaves  ;  the  company  sitting  down  on  blocks 
and  stools  before  it,  plucking  off  the  leaves,  and 
throwing  the  yellow  ears  into  baskets.  A  pleasant 
and  merry  evening  we  had  ;  and  when  the  corn 
was  nigh  stripped,  I  went  into  the  house  with 
Cousin  Thankful,  to  look  to  the  supper  and  the 
laying  of  the  tables,  when  we  heard  a  loud  noise  in 
the  barn,  and  one  of  the  girls  came  running  in, 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          69 

crying  out,  "  O  Thankful !  Thankful !  John  Gib- 
bins  has  appeared  to  us!  His  spirit  is  in  the 
barn  !  "  The  plates  dropt  from  my  cousin's  hand, 
and,  with  a  faint  cry,  she  fell  back  against  the 
wall  for  a  little  space ;  when,  hearing  a  man's 
voice  without,  speaking  her  name,  she  ran  to  the 
door,  with  the  look  of  one  beside  herself ;  while  I, 
trembling  to  see  her  in  such  a  plight,  followed  her. 
There  was  a  clear  moon,  and  a  tall  man  stood  in 
the  light  close  to  the  door. 

"  John,"  said  my  cousin,  in  a  quick,  choking 
voice,  "  is  it  you  ?  " 

"Why,  Thankful,  don't  you  know  me?  I'm 
alive ;  but  the  folks  in  the  barn  will  have  it  that 
I  'm  a  ghost,"  said  the  man,  springing  towards  her. 

With  a  great  cry  of  joy  and  wonder,  my  cousin 
caught  hold  of  him  :  "  O  John,  you  are  alive  !  " 

Then  she  swooned  quite  away,  and  we  had  a  deal 
to  do  to  bring  her  to  life  again.  By  this  time,  the 
house  was  full  of  people,  and  among  the  rest  came 
John's  old  mother  and  his  sisters,  and  we  all  did 
weep  and  laugh  at  the  same  time.  As  soon  as  we 
got  a  little  quieted,  John  told  us  that  he  had  in 
deed  been  grievously  stunned  by  the  blow  of  a  tom 
ahawk,  and  been  left  for  dead  by  his  comrades, 
but  that  after  a  time  he  did  come  to  his  senses, 
and  was  able  to  walk ;  but,  falling  into  the  hands 
of  the  Indians,  he  was  carried  off  to  the  French 
Canadas,  where,  by  reason  of  his  great  sufferings 
on  the  way,  he  fell  sick,  and  lay  for  a  long  time  at 
the  point  of  death.  That  when  he  did  get  about 
again,  the  savage  who  lodged  him,  and  who  had 
taken  him  as  a  son,  in  the  place  of  his  own,  slain 


70          MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

by  the  Mohawks,  would  not  let  him  go  home,  al 
though  he  did  confess  that  the  war  was  at  an  end. 
His  Indian  father,  he  said,  who  was  feeble  and  old, 
died  not  long  ago,  and  he  had  made  his  way  home 
by  the  way  of  Crown  Point  and  Albany.  Supper 
being  ready,  we  all  sat  down,  and  the  minister, 
who  had  been  sent  for,  offered  thanks  for  the 
marvellous  preserving  and  restoring  of  the  friend 
who  was  lost  and  now  was  found,  as  also  for  the 
blessings  of  peace,  by  reason  of  which  every  man 
could  now  sit  under  his  own  vine  and  fig -tree,  with 
none  to  molest  or  make  him  afraid,  and  for  the 
abundance  of  the  harvest,  and  the  treasures  of  the 
seas,  and  the  spoil  of  the  woods,  so  that  our  land 
might  take  up  the  song  of  the  Psalmist :  "  The 
Lord  doth  build  up  Jerusalem  ;  he  gathereth  the 
outcasts  of  Israel ;  lie  healeth  the  broken  in  heart. 
Praise  thy  God,  O  Zion  I  For  he  strengtheneth 
the  bars  of  thy  gates,  he  maketh  peace  in  thy 
borders,  and  fill 'eth  thee  with  the  finest  of  wheat." 
Oh!  a  sweet  supper  we  had,  albeit  little  was  eaten, 
for  we  were  filled  full  of  joy,  and  needed  not  other 
food.  When  the  company  had  gone,  my  dear 
cousin  and  her  betrothed  went  a  little  apart,  and 
talked  of  all  that  had  happened  unto  them  during 
their  long  separation.  I  left  them  sitting  lovingly 
together  in  the  light  of  the  moon,  and  a  measure 
of  their  unspeakable  happiness  did  go  with  me  to 
my  pillow. 

This  morning,  Thankful  came  to  my  bedside  to 
pour  out  her  heart  to  me.  The  poor  girl  is  like  a 
new  creature.  The  shade  of  her  heavy  sorrow, 
which  did  formerly  rest  upon  her  countenance, 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          71 

hath  passed  off  like  a  morning  cloud,  and  her  eye 
hath  the  light  of  a  deep  and  quiet  joy. 

"  I  now  know,"  said  she,  "  what  David  meant 
when  he  said,  '  We  are  like  them  that  dream  ;  our 
mouth  is  filled  with  laughter,  and  our  tongue  with 
singing  ;  the  Lord  hath  done  great  things  for  us^ 
whereof  we  are  glad  !  ' 

October  18. 

A  cloudy  wet  day.  Goody  Nowell  brought  me 
this  morning  a  little  parcel  of  papers,  which  she 
found  in  the  corner  of  a  closet.  They  are  much 
stained  and  smoked,  and  the  mice  have  eaten  them 
sadly,  so  that  I  can  make  little  of  them.  They 
seem  to  be  letters,  and  some  fragments  of  what  did 
take  place  in  the  life  of  a  young  woman  of  quality 
from  the  North  of  England.  I  find  frequent  men 
tion  made  of  Cousin  Christopher,  who  is  also 
spoken  of  as  a  soldier  in  the  wars  with  the  Turks, 
and  as  a  Knight  of  Jerusalem.  Poorly  as  I  can 
make  out  the  meaning  of  these  fragments,  I  have 
read  enough  to  make  my  heart  sad,  for  I  gather 
from  them  that  the  young  woman  was  in  early  life 
betrothed  to  her  cousin,  and  that  afterwards,  ow 
ing,  as  I  judge,  to  the  authority  of  her  parents, 
she  did  part  with  him,  he  going  abroad,  and  enter 
ing  into  the  wars,  in  the  belief  that  she  was  to  wed 
another.  But  it  seemed  that  the  heart  of  the 
young  woman  did  so  plead  for  her  cousin,  that  she 
could  not  be  brought  to  marry  as  her  family  willed 
her  to  do  ;  and,  after  a  lapse  of  years,  she,  by 
chance  hearing  that  Sir  Christopher  had  gone  to 
the  New  England,  where  he  was  acting  as  an  agent 


72          MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

of  his  kinsman,  Sir  Ferdinando  Gorges,  in  respect 
to  the  Maine  Province,  did  privately  leave  her 
home,  and  take  passage  in  a  Boston  bound  ship. 
How  she  did  make  herself  known  to  Sir  Christo 
pher,  I  find  no  mention  made  ;  but,  he  now  being 
a  Knight  of  the  Order  of  St.  John  of  Jerusalem, 
and  vowed  to  forego  marriage,  as  is  the  rule  of 
that  Order,  and  being,  moreover,  as  was  thought, 
a  priest  or  Jesuit,  her  great  love  and  constancy 
could  meet  with  but  a  sorrowful  return  on  his 
part.  It  does  appear,  however,  that  he  journeyed 
to  Montreal,  to  take  counsel  of  some  of  the  great 
Papist  priests  there,  touching  the  obtaining  of  a 
dispensation  from  the  Head  of  the  Church,  so  that 
he  might  marry  the  young  woman ;  but,  getting 
no  encouragement  therein,  he  went  to  Boston  to 
find  a  passage  for  her  to  England  again.  He  was 
there  complained  of  as  a  Papist ;  and  the  coming 
over  of  his  cousin  being  moreover  known,  a  great 
and  cruel  scandal  did  arise  from  it,  and  he  was 
looked  upon  as  a  man  of  evil  life,  though  I  find 
nothing  to  warrant  such  a  notion,  but  much  to  the 
contrary  thereof.  What  became  of  him  and  the 
young  woman,  his  cousin,  in  the  end,  I  do  not 
learn. 

One  small  parcel  did  affect  me  even  unto  tears. 
It  was  a  paper  containing  some  dry,  withered 
leaves  of  roses,  with  these  words  written  on  it : 
"To  Anna,  from  her  loving  cousin,  Christopher 
Gardiner,  being  the  first  rose  that  hath  blossomed 
this  season  in  the  College  garden.  St.  Omer's, 
June,  1630."  I  could  but  think  how  many  tears 
had  been  shed  over  this  little  token,  and  how  often, 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          73 

through  long,  weary  years,  it  did  call  to  mind  the 
sweet  joy  of  early  love,  of  that  fairest  blossom  of 
the  spring  of  life  of  which  it  was  an  emblem,  alike 
in  its  beauty  and  its  speedy  withering. 

There  be  moreover  among  the  papers  sundry 
verses,  which  do  seem  to  have  been  made  by  Sir 
Christopher;  they  are  in  the  Latin  tongue,  and 
inscribed  to  his  cousin,  bearing  date  many  years 
before  the  twain  were  in  this  country,  and  when 
he  was  yet  a  scholar  at  the  Jesuits'  College  of  St. 
Omer's,  in  France.  I  find  nothing  of  a  later  time, 
save  the  verses  which  I  herewith  copy,  over  which 
there  are,  in  a  woman's  handwriting,  these  words : 

"VERSES 

"  Writ  by  Sir   Christopher  when  a  prisoner  among  the    Turks  in 
Moldavia,  and  expecting  death  at  their  hands. 

1. 
"  Ere  down  the  blue  Carpathian  hills 

The  sun  shall  fall  again, 
Farewell  this  life  and  all  its  ills, 
Farewell  to  cell  and  chain  ! 

2. 
"  These  prison  shades  are  dark  and  cold, 

But  darker  far  than  they 
The  shadow  of  a  sorrow  old 
Is  on  mine  heart  alway. 

3. 
"  For  since  the  day  when  Warkworth  wood 

Closed  o'er  my  steed  and  I,  — 
An  alien  from  my  name  and  blood,  — 
A  weed  cast  out  to  die  ; 

4. 

"When,  looking  back,  in  sunset  ligh^ 
I  saw  her  turret  gleam, 


74          MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

And  from  its  window,  far  and  white, 
Her  sign  of  farewell  stream ; 

5. 
"  Like  one  who  from  some  desert  shore 

Does  home's  green  isles  descry, 
And,  vainly  longing,  gazes  o'er 
The  waste  of  wave  and  sky, 

6. 
"So,  from  the  desert  of  my  fate, 

Gaze  I  across  the  past ; 
And  still  upon  life's  dial -plate 
The  shade  is  backward  cast  ! 

7. 
"  I  've  wandered  wide  from  shore  to  shore, 

I  've  knelt  at  many  a  shrine, 
And  bowed  me  to  the  rocky  floor 
Where  Bethlehem's  tapers  shine  ; 

8. 
"  And  by  the  Holy  Sepulchre 

I  've  pledged  my  knightly  sword, 
To  Christ  his  blessed  Church,  and  her 
The  Mother  of  our  Lord  ! 

9. 
"  Oh,  vain  the  vow,  and  vain  the  strife  ! 

How  vain  do  all  things  seem  ! 
My  soul  is  in  the  past,  and  life 
To-day  is  but  a  dream. 

10. 
"  In  vain  the  penance  strange  and  long, 

And  hard  for  flesh  to  bear  ; 
The  prayer,  the  fasting,  and  the  thong. 
And  sackcloth  shirt  of  hair : 

11. 

"  The  eyes  of  memory  will  not  sleep7 
Its  ears  are  open  still, 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL  75 

And  vigils  with  the  past  they  keep 
Against  or  with  my  will. 

12. 
"  And  still  the  loves  and  hopes  of  old 

Do  evermore  uprise  ; 
I  see  the  flow  of  locks  of  gold, 
The  shine  of  loving  eyes. 

13. 

"  Ah  me  !  upon  another's  breast 
Those  golden  locks  recline  ; 
I  see  upon  another  rest 

The  glance  that  once  was  mine  ! 

14. 

" '  O  faithless  priest !       O  perjured  knight ! ' 

I  hear  the  master  cry, 
*  Shut  out  the  vision  from  thy  sight, 
Let  earth  and  nature  die. 

15. 

* { The  Church  of  God  is  now  my  spouse, 

And  thou  the  bridegroom  art ; 

Then  let  the  burden  of  thy  vows 

Keep  down  thy  human  heart.' 

16. 
"  In  vain  !  —  This  heart  its  grief  must  know, 

Till  life  itself  hath  ceased, 
And  falls  beneath  the  self -same  blow 
The  lover  and  the  priest ! 

17. 
u  O  pitying  Mother  !   souls  of  light, 

And  saints  and  martyrs  old, 
Pray  for  a  weak  and  sinful  knight, 
A  suffering  man  uphold. 

18. 
u  Then  let  the  Paynim  work  his  will, 

Le,t  death  unbind  my  chain, 
Ere  down  yon  blue  Carpathian  hill 
The  sunset  falls  again  !  " 


76  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

My  heart  is  heavy  with  the  thought  of  these  un 
fortunates.  Where  be  they  now  ?  Did  the  knight 
forego  his  false  worship  and  his  vows,  and  so  marry 
his  beloved  Anna  ?  Or  did  they  part  forever,  — 
she  going  back  to  her  kinsfolk,  arid  he  to  his  com 
panions  of  Malta?  Did  he  perish  at  the  hands  of 
the  infidels,  and  does  the  maiden  sleep  in  the  fam 
ily  tomb,  under  her  father's  oaks  ?  Alas !  who 
can  tell  ?  I  must  needs  leave  ^em,  and  their  sor 
rows  and  trials,  to  Him  who  doth  not  willingly 
afflict  the  children  of  men  ;  and  whatsoever  may 
have  been  their  sins  and  their  follies,  my  prayer 
is,  that  they  may  be  forgiven,  for  they  loved  much. 

October  20. 

I  do  purpose  to  start  to-morrow  for  the  Massa 
chusetts,  going  by  boat  to  the  Piscataqua  River, 
and  thence  by  horse  to  Newbury. 

Young  Mr.  Jordan  spent  yesterday  and  last 
night  with  us.  He  is  a  goodly  youth,  of  a  very 
sweet  and  gentle  disposition  ;  nor  doth  he  seem  to 
me  to  lack  spirit,  although  his  father  (who  liketh 
not  his  quiet  ways  and  easy  temper,  so  contrary  to 
his  own,  and  who  is  sorely  disappointed  in  that  he 
hath  chosen  the  life  of  a  farmer  to  that  of  a  min 
ister,  for  which  he  did  intend  him)  often  accuseth 
him  of  that  infirmity.  Last  night  we  had  much 
pleasant  discourse  touching  the  choice  he  hath 
made  ;  and  when  I  told  him  that  perhaps  he  might 
have  become  a  great  prelate  in  the  Church,  and 
dwelt  in  a  palace,  and  made  a  great  lady  of  our 
cousin  ;  whereas  now  I  did  see  no  better  prospect 
for  him  than  to  raise  corn  for  his  wife  to  make 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          77 

pudding  of,  and  chop  wood  to  boil  her  kettle,  he 
laughed  right  merrily,  and  said  he  should  never 
have  gotten  higher  than  a  curate  in  a  poor  parish  ; 
and  as  for  Polly,  he  was  sure  she  was  more  at 
home  in  making  puddings  than  in  playing  the  fine 
lady. 

"  For  my  part,"  he  continued,  in  a  serious  man= 
ner,  "I  have  no  notion  that  the  pulpit  is  my 
place ;  I  like  the  open  fields  and  sky  better  than 
the  grandest  churches  of  man's  building ;  and  when 
the  wind  sounds  in  the  great  grove  of  pines  on 
the  hill  near  our  house,  I  doubt  if  there  be  a  choir 
in  all  England  so  melodious  and  solemn.  These 
painted  autumn  woods,  and  this  sunset  light,  and 
yonder  clouds  of  gold  and  purple,  do  seem  to  me 
better  fitted  to  provoke  devotional  thoughts,  ancl  to 
awaken  a  becoming  reverence  and  love  for  the  Cre 
ator,  than  the  stained  windows  and  lofty  arched 
roofs  of  old  minsters.  I  do  know,  indeed,  that 
there  be  many  of  our  poor  busy  planters,  who,  by 
reason  of  ignorance,  ill-breeding,  and  lack  of  quiet 
for  contemplation,  do  see  nothing  in  these  things, 
save  as  they  do  affect  their  crops  of  grain  or 
grasses,  or  their  bodily  comforts  in  one  way  or  an 
other.  But  to  them  whose  minds  have  been  en 
lightened  and  made  large  and  free  by  study  and 
much  reflection,  and  whose  eyes  have  been  taught 
to  behold  the  beauty  and  fitness  of  things,  and 
whose  ears  have  been  so  opened  that  they  can  hear 
the  ravishing  harmonies  of  the  creation,  the  life  of 
a  planter  is  very  desirable  even  in  this  wilderness, 
and  notwithstanding  the  toil  and  privation  there 
unto  appertaining.  There  be  fountains  gushing 


78  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

up  in  the  hearts  of  such,  sweeter  than  the  springs 
of  water  which  flow  from  the  hillsides,  where  they 
sojourn ;  and  therein,  also,  flowers  of  the  summer 
do  blossom  all  the  year  long.  The  brutish  man 
knoweth  not  this,  neither  doth  the  fool  comprehend 
it." 

"  See,  now,"  said  Polly  to  me,  u  how  hard  he  is 
upon  us  poor  unlearned  folk." 

"  Nay,  to  tell  the  truth,"  said  he,  turning  to 
wards  me,  "  your  cousin  here  is  to  be  held  not  a 
little  accountable  for  my  present  inclinations  ;  for 
she  it  was  who  did  confirm  and  strengthen  them. 
While  I  had  been  busy  over  books,  she  had  been 
questioning  the  fields  and  the  woods  ;  and,  as  if 
the  old  fables  of  the  poets  were  indeed  true,  she 
did  get  answers  from  them,  as  the  priestesses  and 
sibyls  did  formerly  from  the  rustling  of  leaves  and 
trees,  and  the  sounds  of  running  waters;  so  that 
she  could  teach  me  much  concerning  the  uses  and 
virtues  of  plants  and  shrubs,  and  of  their  time  of 
flowering  and  decay  ;  of  the  nature  and  habitudes 
of  wild  animals  and  birds,  the  changes  of  the  air, 
and  of  the  clouds  and  winds.  My  science,  so 
called,  had  given  me  little  more  than  the  names  of 
things  which  to  her  were  familiar  and  common. 
It  was  in  her  company  that  I  learned  to  read  na 
ture  as  a  book  always  open,  and  full  of  delectable 
teachings,  until  my  poor  school-lore  did  seem  un 
desirable  and  tedious,  and  the  very  chatter  of  the 
noisy  blackbirds  in  the  spring  meadows  more  pro 
fitable  and  more  pleasing  than  the  angry  disputes 
and  the  cavils  and  subtleties  of  schoolmen  and 
divines." 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          79 

My  cousin  blushed,  and,  smiling  through  her 
moist  eyes  at  this,  language  of  her  beloved  friend, 
said  that  I  must  not  believe  all  he  said ;  for,  in 
deed,  it  was  along  of  his  studies  of  the  heathen 
poets  that  he  had  first  thought  of  becoming  a  far 
mer.  And  she  asked  him  to  repeat  some  of  the 
verses  which  he  had  at  his  tongue's  end.  He 
laughed,  and  said  he  did  suppose  she  meant  some 
lines  of  Horace,  which  had  been  thus  Englished  :  — 

"  I  often  wished  I  had  a  farm, 
A  decent  dwelling-,  snug-  and  warm, 
A  garden,  and  a  spring  as  pure 
As  crystal  flowing  by  my  door, 
Besides  an  ancient  oaken  grove, 
Where  at  my  leisure  I  might  rove. 

"  The  gracious  gods,  to  crown  my  bliss, 
Have  granted  this,  and  more  than  this,  — 
They  promise  me  a  modest  spouse, 
To  light  my  hearth  and  keep  my  house. 
I  ask  no  more  than,  free  from  strife, 
To  hold  these  blessings  all  my  life  !  " 

I  am  exceedingly  pleased,  I  must  say,  with  the 
prospect  of  my  cousin  Polly.  Her  suitor  is  alto 
gether  a  worthy  young  man ;  and,  making  allow 
ances  for  the  uncertainty  of  all  human  things,  she 
may  well  look  forward  to  a  happy  life  with  him. 
I  shall  leave  behind  on  the  morrow  dear  friends, 
who  were  strangers  unto  me  a  few  short  weeks  ago, 
but  in  whose  joys  and  sorrows  I  shall  henceforth 
always  partake,  so  far  as  I  do  come  to  the  know 
ledge  of  them,  whether  or  no  I  behold  their  faces 
any  more  in  this  life. 


80          MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

HAMPTON,  October  24,  1678. 

I  took  leave  of  my  good  friends  at  Agamenticus, 
or  York,  as  it  is  now  called,  on  the  morning  after 
the  last  date  in  my  journal,  going  in  a  boat  with 
my  uncle  to  Piscataqua  and  Strawberry  Bank.  It 
was  a  cloudy  day,  and  I  was  chilled  through  be 
fore  we  got  to  the  mouth  of  the  river  ;  but,  as  the 
high  wind  was  much  in  our  favor,  we  were  enabled 
to  make  the  voyage  in  a  shorter  time  than  is  com 
mon.  We  stopped  a  little  at  the  house  of  a  Mr. 
Cutts,  a  man  of  some  note  in  these  parts ;  but  he 
being  from  home,  and  one  of  the  children  sick 
with  a  quinsy,  we  went  up  the  river  to  Strawberry 
Bank,  where  we  tarried  over  night.  The  woman 
who  entertained  us  had  lost  her  husband  in  the 
war,  and  having  to  see  to  the  ordering  of  matters 
out  of  doors  in  this  busy  season  of  harvest,  it  was 
no  marvel  that  she  did  neglect  those  within.  I 
made  a  comfortable  supper  of  baked  pumpkin  and 
milk,  and  for  lodgings  I  had  a  straw  bed  on  the 
floor,  in  the  dark  loft,  which  was  piled  wellnigh 
full  with  corn-ears,  pumpkins,  and  beans,  besides 
a  great  deal  of  old  household  trumpery,  wool,  and 
flax,  and  the  skins  of  animals.  Although  tired  of 
my  journey,  it  was  some  little  time  before  I  could 
get  asleep  ;  and  it  so  fell  out,  that  after  the  folks 
of  the  house  were  all  abed,  and  still,  it  being,  as 
I  judge,  nigh  midnight,  I  chanced  to  touch  with 
my  foot  a  pumpkin  lying  near  the  bed,  which  set 
it  a-rolling  down  the  stairs,  bumping  hard  on  every 
stair  as  it  went.  Thereupon  I  heard  a  great  stir 
below,  the  woman  and  her  three  daughters  crying 
out  that  the  house  was  haunted.  Presently  she 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          81 

called  to  me  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and  asked 
me  if  I  did  hear  'anything.  I  laughed  so  at  all 
this,  that  it  was  some  time  before  I  could  speak ; 
when  I  told  her  I  did  hear  a  thumping  on  the 
stairs.  "  Did  it  seem  to  go  up,  or  down  ?  "  in 
quired  she,  anxiously ;  and  on  my  telling  her  that 
the  sound  went  downward,  she  set  up  a  sad  cry, 
and  they  all  came  fleeing  into  the  corn-loft,  the 
girls  bouncing  upon  my  bed,  and  hiding  under  the 
blanket,  and  the  old  woman  praying  and  groaning, 
and  saying  that  she  did  believe  it  was  the  spirit  of 
her  poor  husband.  By  this  time  my  uncle,  who 
was  lying  on  the  settle  in  the  room  below,  hearing 
the  noise,  got  up,  and  stumbling  over  the  pump 
kin,  called  to  know  what  was  the  matter.  There 
upon  the  woman  bade  him  flee  up  stairs,  for  there 
was  a  ghost  in  the  kitchen.  "  Pshaw !  "  said  my 
uncle,  "  is  that  all  ?  I  thought  to  be  sure  the 
Indians  had  come."  As  soon  as  I  could  speak 
for  laughing,  I  told  the  poor  creature  what  it  was 
that  so  frightened  her ;  at  which  she  was  greatly 
vexed  ;  and,  after  she  went  to  bed  again,  I  could 
hear  her  scolding  me  for  playing  tricks  upon  hon 
est  people. 

We  were  up  betimes  in  the  morning,  which  was 
bright  and  pleasant.  Uncle  soon  found  a  friend 
of  his,  a  Mr.  Weare,  who,  with  his  wife,  was  to  go 
to  his  home,  at  Hampton,  that  day,  and  who  did 
kindly  engage  to  see  me  thus  far  on  my  way.  At 
about  eight  of  the  clock  we  got  upon  our  horses, 
the  woman  riding  on  a  pillion  behind  her  husband. 
Our  way  was  for  some  miles  through  the  woods, 
getting  at  times  a  view  of  the  sea,  and  passing 


82          MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

some  good,  thriving  plantations.  The  woods  in 
this  country  are  by  no  means  like  those  of  Eng 
land,  where  the  ancient  trees  are  kept  clear  of 
bushes  and  undergrowth,  and  the  sward  beneath 
them  is  shaven  clean  and  close ;  whereas  here  they 
be  much  tangled  with  vines,  and  the  dead  boughs 
and  logs  which  have  fallen,  from  their  great  age, 
or  which  the  storms  do  beat  off,  or  the  winter 
snows  and  ices  do  break  down.  Here,  also,  through 
the  thick  matting  of  dead  leaves,  all  manner  of 
shrubs  and  bushes,  some  of  them  very  sweet  and 
fair  in  their  flowering,  and  others  greatly  prized 
for  their  healing  virtues,  do  grow  up  plenteously. 
In  the  season  of  them,  many  wholesome  fruits 
abound  in  the  woods,  such  as  blue  and  black  ber 
ries.  We  passed  many  trees,  well  loaded  with 
walnuts  and  oilnuts,  seeming  all  alive,  as  it  were, 
with  squirrels,  striped,  red,  and  gray,  the  last  hav 
ing  a  large,  spreading  tail,  which  Mr.  Weare  told 
me  they  do  use  as  a  sail,  to  catch  the  wind,  that  it 
may  blow  them  over  rivers  and  creeks,  on  pieces 
of  bark,  in  some  sort  like  that  wonderful  shell-fish 
which  transformeth  itself  into  a  boat,  and  saileth 
on  the  waves  of  the  sea.  We  also  found  grapes, 
both  white  and  purple,  hanging  down  in  clusters 
from  the  trees,  over  which  the  vines  did  run,  nigh 
upon  as  large  as  those  which  the  Jews  of  old 
plucked  at  Eschol.  The  air  was  sweet  and  soft, 
and  there  was  a  clear,  but  not  a  hot  sun,  and  the 
chirping  of  squirrels,  and  the  noise  of  birds,  and 
the  sound  of  the  waves  breaking  on  the  beach  a 
little  distance  off,  and  the  leaves,  at  every  breath 
of  the  wind  in  the  tree-tops,  whirling  and  flutter- 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          83 

ing  down  about  me,  like  so  many  yellow  and  scar 
let-colored  birds,  made  the  ride  wonderfully  pleas 
ant  and  entertaining. 

Mr.  Weare,  on  the  way,  told  me  that  there  was 
a  great  talk  of  the  bewitching  of  Goodman  Morse's 
house  at  Newbury,  and  that  the  case  of  Caleb  Pow 
ell  was  still  before  the  Court,  he  being  vehemently 
suspected  of  the  mischief.  I  told  him  I  thought 
the  said  Caleb  was  a  vain,  talking  man,  but  no 
wise  of  a  wizard.  The  thing  most  against  him, 
Mr.  Weare  said,  was  this  :  that  he  did  deny  at  the 
first  that  the  house  was  troubled  by  evil  spirits,  and 
even  went  so  far  as  to  doubt  that  such  things  could 
be  at  all.  "  Yet  many  wiser  men  than  Caleb  Pow 
ell  do  deny  the  same,"  I  said.  "  True,"  answered 
he  ;  "  but,  as  good  Mr.  Richardson,  of  Newbury, 
well  saith,  there  have  never  lacked  Sadducees,  who 
believe  not  in  angel  or  spirit."  I  told  the  story 
of  the  disturbance  at  Strawberry  Bank  the  night 
before,  and  how  so  silly  a  thing  as  a  rolling  pump 
kin  did  greatly  terrify  a  whole  household  ;  and 
said  I  did  not  doubt  this  Newbury  trouble  was 
something  very  like  it.  Hereupon  the  good  woman 
took  the  matter  up,  saying  she  had  been  over  to 
Newbury,  and  had  seen  with  her  own  eyes,  and 
heard  with  her  own  ears ;  and  that  she  could  say 
of  it  as  the  Queen  of  Sheba  did  of  Solomon's 
glory,  "The  half  had  not  been  told  her."  She 
then  went  on  to  tell  me  of  many  marvellous  and 
truly  unaccountable  things,  so  that  I  must  needs 
think  there  is  an  invisible  hand  at  work  there. 

We  reached  Hampton  about  one  hour  before 
noon ;  and  riding  up  the  road  towards  the  meeting- 


84  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

house,  to  my  great  joy,  Uncle  Rawson,  who  had 
business  with  the  Commissioners  then  sitting,  came 
out  to  meet  me,  bidding  me  go  on  to  Mr.  Weare's 
house,  whither  he  would  follow  me  when  the  Court 
did  adjourn.  He  came  thither  accordingly,  to  sup 
and  lodge,  bringing  with  him  Mr.  Pike  the  elder, 
one  of  the  magistrates,  a  grave,  venerable  man,  the 
father  of  mine  old  acquaintance,  Robert.  Went  in 
the  evening  with  Mistress  Weare  and  her  maiden 
sister  to  see  a  young  girl  in  the  neighborhood,  said 
to  be  possessed,  or  bewitched  ;  but  for  mine  own 
part  I  did  see  nothing  in  her  behavior  beyond  that 
of  a  vicious  and  spoiled  child,  delighting  in  mis 
chief.  Her  grandmother,  with  whom  she  lives, 
lays  the  blame  on  an  ill-disposed  woman,  named 
Susy  Martin,  living  in  Salisbury.  Mr.  Pike,  who 
dwells  near  this  Martin,  saith  she  is  no  witch,  al 
though  an  arrant  scold,  as  was  her  mother  before 
her  ;  and  as  for  the  girl,  he  saith  that  a  birch  twig, 
smartly  laid  on,  would  cure  her  sooner  than  the 
hanging  of  all  the  old  women  in  the  Colony.  Mis 
tress  Weare  says  this  is  not  the  first  time  the  Evil 
Spirit  hath  been  at  work  in  Hampton  ;  for  they  did 
all  remember  the  case  of  Goody  Marston's  child, 
who  was,  from  as  fair  and  promising  an  infant  as 
one  would  wish  to  see,  changed  into  the  likeness 
of  an  ape,  to  the  great  grief  and  sore  shame  of  its 
parents  ;  and,  moreover,  that  when  the  child  died, 
there  was  seen  by  more  than  one  person  a  little  old 
woman  in  a  blue  cloak,  and  petticoat  of  the  same 
color,  following  on  after  the  mourners,  and  looking 
very  like  old  Eunice  Cole,  who  was  then  locked 
fast  in  Ipswich  jail,  twenty  miles  off.  Uncle  Raw- 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL  85 

son  says  he  has  all  the  papers  in  his  possession 
touching  the  trial  of  this  Cole,  and  will  let  me  see 
them  when  we  get  back  to  Newbury.  There  was 
much  talk  on  this  matter,  which  so  disturbed  my 
fancy  that  I  slept  but  poorly.  This  afternoon  we 
go  over  to  Newbury,  where,  indeed,  I  do  greatly 
long  to  be  once  more. 

NEWBURY,  October  26. 

Cousin  Rebecca  gone  to  Boston,  and  not  ex 
pected  home  until  next  week.  The  house  seems 
lonely  without  her.  R.  Pike  looked  in  upon  us 
this  morning,  telling  us  that  there  was  a  rumor  in 
Boston,  brought  by  way  of  the  New  York  Colony, 
that  a  great  Papist  Plot  had  been  discovered  in 
England,  and  that  it  did  cause  much  alarm  in  Lon 
don  and  thereabout.  R.  Pike  saith  he  doubts  not 
the  Papists  do  plot,  it  being  the  custom  of  their 
Jesuits  so  to  do  ;  but  that,  nevertheless,  it  would 
be  no  strange  thing  if  it  should  be  found  that  the 
Bishops  and  the  Government  did  set  this  rumor 
a-going,  for  the  excuse  and  occasion  of  some  new 
persecutions  of  Independents  and  godly  people. 

October  27. 

Mr.  Richardson  preached  yesterday,  from  Deu 
teronomy  xviii.  10th,  llth,  and  12th  verses.  An 
ingenious  and  solid  discourse,  in  which  he  showed 
that,  as  among  the  heathen  nations  surrounding  the 
Jews,  there  were  sorcerers,  charmers,  wizards,  and 
consulters  with  familiar  spirits,  who  were  an  abom 
ination  to  the  Lord,  so  in  our  time  the  heathen 
nations  of  Indians  had  also  their  powahs  and  pani- 


86  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

sees  and  devilish  wizards,  against  whom  the  warning 
of  the  text  might  well  be  raised  by  the  watchmen  on 
the  walls  of  our  Zion.  He  moreover  said  that  the 
arts  of  the  Adversary  were  now  made  manifest  in 
this  place  in  a  most  strange  and  terrible  manner, 
and  it  did  become  the  duty  of  all  godly  persons  to 
pray  and  wrestle  with  the  Lord,  that  they  who  have 
made  a  covenant  with  hell  may  be  speedily  discov 
ered  in  their  wickedness,  and  cut  off  from  the  con 
gregation.  An  awful  discourse,  which  made  many 
tremble  and  quake,  and  did  quite  overcome  Good- 
wife  Morse,  she  being  a  weakly  woman,  so  that  she 
had  to  be  carried  out  of  the  meeting. 

It  being  cold  weather,  and  a  damp  easterly  wind 
keeping  me  within  doors,  I  have  been  looking  over 
with  uncle  his  papers  about  the  Hampton  witch, 
Eunice  Cole,  who  was  twice  tried  for  her  mischiefs ; 
and  I  incline  to  copy  some  of  them,  as  I  know  they 
will  be  looked  upon  as  worthy  of  record  by  my  dear 
Cousin  Oliver  and  mine  other  English  friends.  I 
find  that  as  long  ago  as  the  year  1656,  this  same 
Eunice  Cole  was  complained  of,  and  many  wit 
nesses  did  testify  to  her  wickedness.  Here  follow- 
eth  some  of  the  evidence  on  the  first  trial :  — 

"  The  deposition  of  Goody  Marston  and  Goodwife 
Susanna  Palmer,  who,  being  sworn,  sayeth,  that  Good- 
wife  Cole  saith  that  she  was  sure  there  was  a  witch  in 
town,  and  that  she  knew  where  he  dwelt,  and  who  they 
are,  and  that  thirteen  years  ago  she  knew  one  bewitched 
as  Goodwife  Marston's  child  was,  and  she  was  sure  that 
party  was  bewitched,  for  it  told  her  so,  and  it  was 
changed  from  a  man  to  an  ape,  as  Goody  Marston's 
child  was,  and  she  had  prayed  this  thirteen  year  that 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          87 

God  would  discover  that  witch.      And  further  the  de 
ponent  saith  not. 

"  Taken  on  oath  before  the  Commissioners  of  Hamp 
ton,  the  8th  of  the  2nd  mo.,  1656. 

WILLIAM  FULLER. 
HEXRY  Dow. 
"  Vera  copea : 

THOS.  BRADBURY,  Recorder. 

"  Sworn  before,  the  4th  of  September,  1656, 
EDWARD  RAWSON. 

"Thomas  Philbrick  testifieth  that  Goody  Cole  told 
him  that  if  any  of  his  calves  did  eat  of  her  grass,  she 
hoped  it  would  poison  them ;  and  it  fell  out  that  one 
never  came  home  again,  and  the  other  coming  home 
died  soon  after. 

"  Henry  Morelton's  wife  and  Goodwife  Sleeper  de 
pose  that,  talking  about  Goody  Cole  and  Marston's 
child,  they  did  hear  a  great  scraping  against  the  boards 
of  the  window,  which  was  not  done  by  a  cat  or  dog. 

"  Thomas  Coleman's  wife  testifies  that  Goody  Cole 
did  repeat  to  another  the  very  words  which  passed  be 
tween  herself  and  her  husband,  in  their  own  house,  in 
private  ;  and  Thomas  Ormsby,  the  constable  of  Salis 
bury,  testifies,  that  when  he  did  strip  Eunice  Cole  of 
her  shift,  to  be  whipped,  by  the  judgment  of  the  Court 
at  Salisbury,  he  saw  a  witch's  mark  under  her  left 
breast.  Moreover,  one  Abra.  Drake  doth  depose  and 
say,  that  this  Goody  Cole  threatened  that  the  hand  of 
God  would  be  against  his  cattle,  and  forthwith  two  of 
his  cattle  died,  and  before  the  end  of  summer  a  third 
also." 

About  five  years  ago,  she  was  again  presented 
by  the  Jury  for  the  Massachusetts  jurisdiction,  for 
having  "entered  into  a  covenant  with  the  Devil, 


88  MARGARET   SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

contrary  to  the  peace  of  our  Sovereign  Lord  the 
King,  his  crown  and  dignity,  the  laws  of  God  and 
this  jurisdiction  "  ;  and  much  testimony  was  brought 
against  her,  tending  to  show  her  to  be  an  arrant 
witch.  For  it  seems  she  did  fix  her  evil  eye  upon 
a  little  maid  named  Ann  Smith,  to  entice  her  to  her 
house,  appearing  unto  her  in  the  shape  of  a  little 
old  woman,  in  a  blue  coat,  a  blue  cap,  and  a  blue 
apron,  and  a  white  neckcloth,  and  presently  chang 
ing  into  a  dog,  and  running  up  a  tree,  and  then 
into  an  eagle  flying  in  the  air,  and  lastly  into  a  gray 
cat,  speaking  to  her,  and  troubling  her  in  a  griev 
ous  manner.  Moreover,  the  constable  of  the  town 
of  Hampton  testifies,  that,  having  to  supply  Goody 
Cole  with  diet,  by  order  of  the  town,  she  being 
poor,  she  complained  much  of  him,  and  after  that 
his  wife  could  bake  no  bread  in  the  oven  which  did 
not  speedily  rot  and  become  loathsome  to  the 
smell,  but  the  same  meal  baked  at  a  neighbor's 
made  good  and  sweet  bread  ;  and,  further,  that  one 
night  there  did  enter  into  their  chamber  a  smell 
like  that  of  the  bewitched  bread,  only  more  loath 
some,  and  plainly  diabolical  in  its  nature,  so  that, 
as  the  constable's  wife  saith,  "  she  was  fain  to  rise 
in  the  night  and  desire  her  husband  to  go  to  prayer 
to  drive  away  the  Devil ;  and  he,  rising,  went  to 
prayer,  and  after  that,  the  smell  was  gone,  so  that 
they  were  not  troubled  with  it."  There  is  also 
the  testimony  of  Goodwife  Perkins,  that  she  did 
see,  on  the  Lord's  day,  while  Mr.  Dalton  was 
preaching,  an  imp  in  the  shape  of  a  mouse,  fall 
out  the  bosom  of  Eunice  Cole  down  into  her  lap. 
For  all  which,  the  County  Court,  held  at  Salisbury, 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          89 

did  order  her  to  be  sent  to  the  Boston  Jail,  to 
await  her  trial  at  the  Court  of  Assistants.  This  last 
Court,  I  learn  from  mine  uncle,  did  not  condemn 
her,  as  some  of  the  evidence  was  old,  and  not  re 
liable.  Uncle  saith  she  was  a  wicked  old  woman, 
who  had  been  often  whipped  and  set  in  the  duck 
ing-stool,  but  whether  she  was  a  witch  or  no,  he 
knows  not  for  a  certainty. 

November  8. 

Yesterday,  to  my  great  joy,  came  my  beloved 
Cousin  Rebecca  from  Boston.  In  her  company 
also  came  the  worthy  minister  and  doctor  of  medi 
cine,  Mr.  Russ,  formerly  of  Wells,  but  now  set 
tled  at  a  plantation  near  Cocheco.  He  is  to 
make  some  little  tarry  in  this  town,  where  at 
this  present  time  many  complain  of  sickness.  Re 
becca  saith  he  is  one  of  the  excellent  of  the  earth, 
and,  like  his  blessed  Lord  and  Master,  delighteth 
in  going  about  doing  good,  and  comforting  both 
soul  and  body.  He  hath  a  cheerful,  pleasant  coun 
tenance,  and  is  very  active,  albeit  he  is  well  strick 
en  in  years.  He  is  to  preach  for  Mr.  Richardson 
next  Sabbath,  and  in  the  mean  time  lodgeth  at  my 
uncle's  house. 

This  morning  the  weather  is  raw  and  cold,  the 
ground  frozen,  and  some  snow  fell  before  sunrise. 
A  little  time  ago,  Dr.  Russ,  who  was  walking  in 
the  garden,  came  in  a  great  haste  to  the  window 
where  Rebecca  and  I  were  sitting,  bidding  us  come 
forth.  So,  we  hurrying  out,  the  good  man  bade  us 
look  whither  he  pointed,  and  lo !  a  flock  of  wild 
geese,  streaming  across  the  sky,  in  two  great  files, 


90  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

sending  down,  as  it  were,  from  the  clouds,  their 
loud  and  sonorous  trumpetings,  "  Cronk,  cronk, 
cronk ! "  These  birds,  the  Doctor  saith,  do  go 
northward  in  March  to  hatch  their  broods  in  the 
great  bogs  and  on  the  desolate  islands,  and  fly 
back  again  when  the  cold  season  approacheth. 
Our  worthy  guest  improved  the  occasion  to  speak 
of  the  care  and  goodness  of  God  towards  his  crea 
tion,  and  how  these  poor  birds  are  enabled,  by 
their  proper  instincts,  to  partake  of  his  bounty,  and 
to  shun  the  evils  of  adverse  climates.  He  never 
looked,  he  said,  upon  the  flight  of  these  fowls, 
without  calling  to  mind  the  query  which  was  of  old 
put  to  Job :  "  Doth  the  hawk  fly  by  thy  wisdom, 
and  stretch  her  wings  toward  the  south  ?  Doth  the 
eagle  mount  up  at  thy  command,  and  make  her 
nest  on  high  ?  " 

November  12,  1678. 

Dr.  Russ  preached  yesterday,  having  for  his  text 
1  Corinthians,  chap.  xiii.  verse  5 :  "  Charity  seek- 
eth  not  her  own."  He  began  by  saying  that  mu 
tual  benevolence  was  a  law  of  nature,  —  no  one 
being  a  whole  of  himself,  nor  capable  of  happily 
subsisting  by  himself,  but  rather  a  member  of  the 
great  body  of  mankind,  which  must  dissolve  and 
perish,  unless  held  together  and  compacted  in  its 
various  parts  by  the  force  of  that  common  and 
blessed  law.  The  wise  Author  of  our  being  hath 
.most  manifestly  framed  and  fitted  us  for  one  an 
other,  and  ordained  that  mutual  charity  shall  sup 
ply  our  mutual  wants  and  weaknesses,  inasmuch  as 
no  man  liveth  to  himself,  but  is  dependent  upon 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          91 

others,  as  others  be  upon  him.  It  hath  been  said 
by  ingenious  men,  that  in  the  outward  world  all 
things  do  mutually  operate  upon  and  affect  each 
other ;  and  that  it  is  by  the  energy  of  this  principle 
that  our  solid  earth  is  supported,  and  the  heavenly 
bodies  are  made  to  keep  the  rhythmic  harmonies  of 
their  creation,  and  dispense  upon  us  their  benign 
favors ;  and  it  may  be  said,  that  a  law  akin  to  this 
hath  been  ordained  for  the  moral  world,  —  mutual 
benevolence  being  the  cement  and  support  of  fam 
ilies,  and  churches,  and  states,  and  of  the  great 
community  and  brotherhood  of  mankind.  It  doth 
both  make  and  preserve  all  the  peace,  and  har 
mony,  and  beauty,  which  liken  our  world  in  some 
small  degree  to  heaven,  and  without  it  all  things 
would  rush  into  confusion  and  discord,  and  the 
earth  would  become  a  place  of  horror  and  torment, 
and  men  become  as  ravening  wolves,  devouring 
and  being  devoured  by  one  another. 

Charity  is  the  second  great  commandment,  upon 
which  hang  all  the  Law  and  the  Prophets ;  and  it 
is  like  unto  the  first,  and  cannot  be  separated  from 
it ;  for  at  the  great  day  of  recompense  we  shall  be 
tried  by  these  commandments,  and  our  faithfulness 
unto  the  first  will  be  seen  and  manifested  by  our 
faithfulness  unto  the  last.  Yea,  by  our  love  of  one 
another  the  Lord  will  measure  our  love  of  himself. 
"  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  one  of  the 
least  of  these  my  brethren,  ye  have  done  it  unto 
me."  The  grace  of  benevolence  is  therefore  no 
small  part  of  our  meetness  for  the  inheritance  of 
the  saints  in  light ;  it  is  the  temper  of  heaven ; 
the  air  which  the  angels  breathe ;  an  immortal 


92  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

grace,  —  for  when  faith  which  supporteth  us  here, 
and  hope  which  is  as  an  anchor  to  the  tossed  soul, 
are  no  longer  needed,  charity  remaineth  forever, 
for  it  is  native  in  heaven,  and  partaketh  of  the 
divine  nature,  for  God  himself  is  love. 

"  Oh,  my  hearers,"  said  the  preacher,  his  vener 
able  face  brightening  as  if  with  a  light  shining 
from  within,  "  doth  not  the  Apostle  tell  us  that 
skill  in  tongues  and  gifts  of  prophecy,  and  myste 
ries  of  knowledge  and  faith,  do  avail  nothing  where 
charity  is  lacking  ?  What  avail  great  talents,  if 
they  be  not  devoted  to  goodness  ?  On  the  other 
hand,  where  charity  dwelleth,  it  maketh  the  weak 
strong  and  the  uncomely  beautiful ;  it  sheddeth  a 
glory  about  him  who  possesseth  it,  like  that  which 
did  shine  on  the  face  of  Moses,  or  that  which  did 
sit  upon  the  countenance  of  Stephen,  when  his  face 
was  as  the  face  of  an  angel.  Above  all,  it  con- 
formeth  us  to  the  Son  of  God ;  for  through  love 
he  came  among  us,  and  went  about  doing  good, 
adorning  his  life  with  miracles  of  mercy,  and  at 
last  laid  it  down  for  the  salvation  of  men.  What 
heart  can  resist  his  melting  entreaty  :  ''Even  as  1 
have  loved  you,  love  ye  also  one  another.' 

"  We  do  all,"  he  continued,  "  seek  after  happi 
ness,  but  too  often  blindly  and  foolishly.  The  self 
ish  man,  striving  to  live  for  himself,  shutteth  him 
self  up  to  partake  of  his  single  portion,  and  mar- 
velleth  that  he  cannot  enjoy  it.  The  good  things 
he  hath  laid  up  for  himself  fail  to  comfort  him ; 
and  although  he  hath  riches,  and  wanteth  nothing 
for  his  soul  of  all  that  he  desireth,  yet  hath  he  not 
power  to  partake  thereof.  They  be  as  delicates 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          93 

poured  upon  a  mouth  shut  up,  or  as  meats  set  upon 
a  grave.  But  he  that  hath  found  charity  to  be  the 
temper  of  happiness,  which  doth  put  the  soul  in  a 
natural  and  easy  condition,  and  openeth  it  to  the 
solaces  of  that  pure  and  sublime  entertainment 
which  the  angels  do  spread  for  such  as  obey  the 
will  of  their  Creator,  hath  discovered  a  more  subtle 
alchemy  than  any  of  which  the  philosophers  did 
dream,  —  for  he  transmuteth  the  enjoyments  of 
others  into  his  own,  and  his  large  and  open  heart 
partaketh  of  the  satisfaction  of  all  around  him. 
Are  there  any  here  who,  in  the  midst  of  outward 
abundance,  are  sorrowful  of  heart,  —  who  go  mourn 
ing  on  their  way  from  some  inward  discomfort,  — 
who  long  for  serenity  of  spirit,  and  cheerful  happi 
ness,  as  the  servant  earnestly  desireth  the  shadow  ? 
Let  such  seek  out  the  poor  and  forsaken,  they  who 
have  no  homes  nor  estates,  who  are  the  servants  of 
sin  and  evil  habits,  who  lack  food  for  both  the 
body  and  the  mind.  Thus  shall  they,  in  remem 
bering  others,  forget  themselves  ;  the  pleasure  they 
afford  to  their  fellow-creatures  shall  come  back 
larger  and  fuller  unto  their  own  bosoms,  and  they 
shall  know  of  a  truth  how  much  the  more  blessed 
it  is  to  give  than  to  receive.  In  love  and  compas 
sion,  God  hath  made  us  dependent  upon  each  other, 
to  the  end  that  by  the  use  of  our  affections  we  may 
find  true  happiness  and  rest  to  our  souls.  He 
hath  united  us  so  closely  with  our  fellows,  that  they 
do  make,  as  it  were,  a  part  of  our  being,  and  in 
comforting  them  we  do  most  assuredly  comfort  our 
selves.  Therein  doth  happiness  come  to  us  un 
awares,  and  without  seeking,  as  the  servant  who 


94  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

goeth  on  his  master's  errand  findeth  pleasant  fruits 
and  sweet  flowers  overhanging  him,  and  cool  foun 
tains,  which  he  knew  not  of,  gushing  up  by  the 
wayside,  for  his  solace  and  refreshing." 

The  minister  then  spake  of  the  duty  of  charity 
towards  even  the  sinful  and  froward,  and  of  win 
ning  them  by  love  and  good  will,  and  making  even 
their  correction  and  punishment  a  means  of  awak 
ening  them  to  repentance,  and  the  calling  forth  of 
the  fruits  meet  for  it.  He  also  spake  of  self-styled 
prophets  and  enthusiastic  people,  who  went  about 
to  cry  against  the  Church  and  the  State,  and  to 
teach  new  doctrines,  saying  that  oftentimes  such 
were  sent  as  a  judgment  upon  the  professors  of  the 
truth,  who  had  the  form  of  godliness  only,  while 
lacking  the  power  thereof ;  and  that  he  did  believe 
that  the  zeal  which  had  been  manifested  against 
such  had  not  always  been  enough  seasoned  with 
charity.  It  did  argue  a  lack  of  faith  in  the  truth, 
to  fly  into  a  panic  and  a  great  rage  when  it  was 
called  in  question  ;  and  to  undertake  to  become 
God's  avengers,  and  to  torture  and  burn  heretics, 
was  an  error  of  the  Papists,  which  ill  became  those 
who  had  gone  out  from  among  them.  Moreover, 
he  did  believe  that  many  of  these  people,  who  had 
so  troubled  the  Colony  of  late,  were  at  heart  simple 
and  honest  men  and  women,  whose  heads  might 
indeed  be  unsound,  but  who  at  heart  sought  to  do 
the  will  of  God ;  and,  of  a  truth,  all  could  testify  to 
the  sobriety  and  strictness  of  their  lives,  and  the 
justice  of  their  dealings  in  outward  things. 

He  spake  also  somewhat  of  the  Indians,  who, 
he  said,  were  our  brethren,  and  concerning  whom 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          95 

we  would  have  an  account  to  give  at  the  Great 
Day.  The  hand  of  these  heathen  people  had  been 
heavy  upon  the  Colonies,  and  many  had  suffered 
from  their  cruel  slaughterings,  and  the  captivity  of 
themselves  and  their  families.  Here  the  a^'ed  min- 

O 

ister  wept,  for  he  doubtless  thought  of  his  son,  who 
was  slain  in  the  war  ;  and  for  a  time  the  words  did 
seem  to  die  in  his  throat,  so  greatly  was  he  moved. 
But  he  went  on  to  say,  that  since  God,  in  his  great 
and  undeserved  mercy,  had  put  an  end  to  the  war, 
all  present  unkindness  and  hard  dealing  towards 
the  poor  benighted  heathen  was  an  offence  in  the 
eyes  of  Him  who  respecteth  not  the  persons  of 
men,  but  who  regardeth  with  an  equal  eye  the 
white  and  the  red  men,  both  being  the  workman 
ship  of  His  hands.  It  is  our  blessed  privilege  to 
labor  to  bring  them  to  a  knowledge  of  the  true 
God,  whom,  like  the  Athenians,  some  of  them  do 
ignorantly  worship  ;  while  the  greater  part,  as  was 
said  of  the  heathen  formerly,  do  not,  out  of  the  good 
things  that  are  seen,  know  Him  that  is  ;  neither  by 
considering  the  works  do  they  acknowledge  the 
workmaster,  but  deem  the  fire  or  wind,  or  the  swift 
air,  or  the  circle  of  the  stars,  or  the  violent  water, 
or  the  lights  of  heaven,  to  be  the  gods  who  govern 
the  world. 

He  counselled  against  mischief-makers  and  stir- 
rers  up  of  strife,  and  such  as  do  desire  occasion 
against  their  brethren.  He  said  that  it  did  seem 
as  if  many  thought  to  atone  for  their  own  sins  by 
their  great  heat  and  zeal  to  discover  wickedness  in 
others ;  and  that  he  feared  such  might  be  the  case 
now,  when  there  was  much  talk  of  the  outward  and 


96  MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

visible  doings  of  Satan  in  this  place ;  whereas,  the 
enemy  was  most  to  be  feared  who  did  work  privily 
in  the  heart ;  it  being  a  small  thing  for  him  to  be 
witch  a  dwelling  made  of  wood  and  stone,  who  did 
so  easily  possess  and  enchant  the  precious  souls  of 
men. 

Finally,  he  did  exhort  all  to  keep  watch  over 
their  own  spirits,  and  to  remember  that  what  meas 
ure  they  do  mete  to  others  shall  be  measured 
to  them  again  ;  to  lay  aside  all  wrath,  and  malice, 
and  evil-speaking ;  to  bear  one  another's  burdens, 
and  so  make  this  Church  in  the  wilderness  beauti 
ful  and  comely,  an  example  to  the  world  of  that 
peace  and  good  will  to  men,  which  the  angels  sang 
of  at  the  birth  of  the  blessed  Kedeemer. 

I  have  been  the  more  careful  to  give  the  sub 
stance  of  Mr.  Russ's  sermon,  as  nearly  as  I  can 
remember  it,  forasmuch  as  it  hath  given  offence  to 
some  who  did  listen  to  it.  Deacon  Dole  saith  it 
was  such  a  discourse  as  a  Socinian  or  a  Papist 
might  have  preached,  for  the  great  stress  it  laid 
upon  works  ;  and  Goodwife  Matson,  a  noisy,  talk 
ing  woman,  —  such  an  one,  no  doubt,  as  those 
busybodies  whom  Saint  Paul  did  rebuke  for  for 
wardness,  and  command  to  keep  silence  in  the 
church,  —  says  the  preacher  did  go  out  of  his  way 
to  favor  Quakers,  Indians,  and  witches ;  and  that 
the  Devil  in  Goody  Morse's  house  was  no  doubt 
well  pleased  with  the  discourse.  K.  Pike  saith 
he  does  no  wise  marvel  at  her  complaints ;  for 
when  she  formerly  dwelt  at  the  Marblehead  fishing- 
haven,  she  was  one  of  the  unruly  women  who  did 
break  into  Thompson's  garrison-house,  and  barba- 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL  97 

rously  put  to  death  two  Saugus  Indians,  who  had 
given  themselves  up  for  safe  keeping,  and  who  had 
never  harmed  any,  which  thing  was  a  great  grief 
and  scandal  to  all  well-disposed  people.  And  yet 
this  woman,  who  scrupled  not  to  say  that  she  would 
as  lief  stick  an  Indian  as  a  hog,  and  who  walked 
all  the  way  from  Marblehead  to  Boston  to  see  the 
Quaker  woman  hung,  and  did  foully  jest  over  her 
dead  body,  was  allowed  to  have  her  way  in  the 
church,  Mr.  Richardson  being  plainly  in  fear  of 
her  ill  tongue  and  wicked  temper. 

November  13. 

The  Quaker  maid,  Margaret  Brewster,  came  this 
morning,  inquiring  for  the  Doctor,  and  desiring 
him  to  visit  a  sick  man  at  her  father's  house,  a  little 
way  up  the  river ;  whereupon  he  took  his  staff  and 
went  with  her.  On  his  coming  back,  he  said  he 
must  do  the  Quakers  the  justice  to  say,  that,  with 
all  their  heresies  and  pestilent  errors  of  doctrine, 
they  were  a  kind  people ;  for  here  was  Goodman 
Brewster,  whose  small  estate  had  been  wellnigh 
taken  from  him  in  fines,  and  whose  wife  was  a 
weak,  ailing  woman,  who  was  at  this  time  kindly 
lodging  and  nursing  a  poor,  broken-down  soldier, 
by  no  means  likely  to  repay  him,  in  any  sort.  As 
for  the  sick  man,  he  had  been  hardly  treated  in  the 
.matter  of  his  wages,  while  in  the  war,  and  fined, 
moreover,  on  the  ground  that  he  did  profane  the 
holy  Sabbath  ;  and  though  he  had  sent  a  petition 
to  the  Honorable  Governor  and  Council,  for  the 
remission  of  the  same,  it  had  been  to  no  purpose. 
Mr.  Russ  said  he  had  taken  a  copy  of  this  petition, 


98          MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

with  the  answer  thereto,  intending  to  make  another 
application  himself  to  the  authorities ;  for  although 
the  petitioner  might  have  been  blamable,  yet  his 
necessity  did  go  far  to  excuse  it.  He  gave  me  the 
papers  to  copy,  which  are  as  f olloweth :  — 

"  To  the  Hon.  the  Governor  and  Council,  now  sitting 
in  Boston,  July  30,  1676.  The  Petition  of  Jonathan 
Atherton  humbly  showeth : 

"  That  your  Petitioner,  being  a  soldier  under  Captain 
Henchman,  during  their  abode  at  Concord,  Captain  H., 
under  pretence  of  your  petitioner's  profanation  of  the 
Sabbath,  had  sentenced  your  petitioner  to  lose  a  fort 
night's  pay.  Now,  the  thing  that  was  alleged  against 
your  petitioner  was,  that  he  cut  a  piece  of  an  old  hat  to 
put  in  his  shoes,  and  emptied  three  or  four  cartridges. 
Now,  there  was  great  occasion  and  necessity  for  his  so 
doing,  for  his  shoes  were  grown  so  big,  by  walking  and 
riding  in  the  wet  and  dew,  that  they  galled  his  feet  so 
that  he  was  not  able  to  go  without  pain  ;  and  his  car 
tridges,  being  in  a  bag,  were  worn  with  continual  travel, 
so  that  they  lost  the  powder  out,  so  that  it  was  danger 
ous  to  carry  them ;  besides,  he  did  not  know  how  soon 
he  should  be  forced  to  make  use  of  them,  therefore  he 
did  account  it  lawful  to  do  the  same ;  yet,  if  it  be 
deemed  a  breach  of  the  Sabbath,  he  desires  to  be  hum 
bled  before  the  Lord,  and  begs  the  pardon  of  his  people 
for  any  offence  done  to  them  thereby.  And  doth  hum 
bly  request  the  favor  of  your  Honors  to  consider  the 
premises,  and  to  remit  the  fine  imposed  upon  him,  and 
to  give  order  to  the  committee  for  the  war  for  the  pay 
ment  of  his  wages.  So  shall  he  forever  pray." 

"  Aug.  1676.  —  The  Council  sees  no  cause  to  grant 
the  petitioner  any  relief." 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL          99 

NEWBURY,  November  18,  1678. 

Went  yesterday  to  the  haunted  house  with  Mr. 
Russ  and  Mr.  Richardson,  Rebecca  and  Aunt 
Rawson  being  in  the  company.  Found  the  old 
couple  in  much  trouble,  sitting  by  the  fire,  with  the 
Bible  open  before  them,  and  Goody  Morse  weep 
ing.  Mr.  Richardson  asked  Goodman  Morse  to 
tell  what  he  had  seen  and  heard  in  the  house  ; 
which  he  did,  to  this  effect :  That  there  had  been 
great  and  strange  noises  all  about  the  house,  a 
banging  of  doors,  and  a  knocking  on  the  boards, 
and  divers  other  unaccountable  sounds  ;  that  he 
had  seen  his  box  of  tools  turn  over  of  itself,  and 
the  tools  fly  about  the  room ;  baskets  dropping 
down  the  chimney,  and  the  pots  hanging  over  the 
fire  smiting  against  each  other ;  and,  moreover,  the 
irons  on  the  hearth  jumping  into  the  pots,  and 
dancing  on  the  table.  Goodwife  Morse  said  that 
her  bread-tray  would  upset  of  its  own  accord,  and 
the  great  woollen  wheel  would  contrive  to  turn  it 
self  upside  down,  and  stand  on  its  end ;  and  that 
when  she  and  the  boy  did  make  the  beds,  the 
blankets  would  fly  off  as  fast  as  they  put  them  on, 
all  of  which  the  boy  did  confirm.  Mr.  Russ  asked 
her  if  she  suspected  any  one  of  the  mischief ; 
whereupon,  she  said  she  did  believe  it  was  done 
by  the  seaman  Powell,  a  cunning  man,  who  was 
wont  to  boast  of  his  knowledge  in  astrology  and 
astronomy,  having  been  brought  up  under  one  Nor 
wood,  who  is  said  to  have  studied  the  Black  Art. 
He  had  wickedly  accused  her  grandson  of  the  mis 
chief,  whereas  the  poor  boy  had  himself  suffered 
greatly  from  the  Evil  Spirit,  having  been  often 


100         MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

struck  with  stones  and  bits  of  boards,  which  were 
flung  upon  him,  and  kept  awake  o'  nights  by  the 
diabolical  noises.  Goodman  Morse  here  said  that 
Powell,  coming  in,  and  pretending  to  pity  their 
lamentable  case,  told  them  that  if  they  would  let 
him  have  the  boy  for  a  day  or  two,  they  should  be 
free  of  the  trouble  while  he  was  with  him  ;  and 
that  the  boy  going  with  him,  they  had  no  disturb 
ance  in  that  time  ;  which  plainly  showed  that  this 
Powell  had  the  wicked  spirits  in  his  keeping,  and 
could  chain  them  up,  or  let  them  out,  as  he  pleased. 
Now,  while  she  was  speaking,  we  did  all  hear 
a  great  thumping  on  the  ceiling,  and  presently  a 
piece  of  a  board  flew  across  the  room  against  the 
chair  on  which  Mr.  Richardson  was  sitting ;  where 
at  the  two  old  people  set  up  a  dismal  groaning, 
and  the  boy  cried  out,  "  That 's  the  witch ! "  Good 
man  Morse  begged  of  Mr.  Richardson  to  fall  to 
praying,  which  he  presently  did ;  and,  when  he 
had  done,  he  asked  Mr.  Russ  to  follow  him,  who 
sat  silent  and  musing  a  little  while,  and  then 
prayed  that  the  worker  of  the  disturbance,  whether 
diabolical  or  human,  might  be  discovered  and 
brought  to  light.  After  which  there  was  no  noise 
while  we  staid.  Mr.  Russ  talked  awhile  with  the 
boy,  who  did  stoutly  deny  what  Caleb  Powell 
charged  upon  him,  and  showed  a  bruise  which  he 
got  from  a  stick  thrown  at  him  in  the  cow-house. 
When  we  went  away,  Mr.  Richardson  asked  Mr. 
Russ  what  he  thought  of  it.  Mr.  Russ  said,  the 
matter  had  indeed  a  strange  look,  but  that  it 
might  be,  nevertheless,  the  work  of  the  boy,  who 
was  a  cunning  young  rogue,  and  capable  beyond 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        101 

his  years.  Mr.  Richardson  said  he  hoped  his 
brother  was  not  about  to  countenance  the  scoffers 
and  Sadducees,  who  had  all  along  tried  to  throw 
doubt  upon  the  matter.  For  himself,  he  did  look 
upon  it  as  the  work  of  invisible  demons,  and  an 
awful  proof  of  the  existence  of  such,  and  of  the 
deplorable  condition  of  all  who  fall  into  their 
hands  ;  moreover,  he  did  believe  that  God  would 
overrule  this  malice  of  the  Devil  for  good,  and 
make  it  a  means  of  awakening  sinners  and 
lukewarm  church-members  to  a  sense  of  their 
danger. 

Last  night,  brother  Leonard,  who  is  studying 
with  the  learned  Mr.  Ward,  the  minister  at  Haver- 
hill,  came  down,  in  the  company  of  the  worshipful 
Major  Saltonstall,  who  hath  business  with  Esquire 
Dummer  and  other  magistrates  of  this  place. 
Mr.  Saltonstall's  lady,  who  is  the  daughter  of  Mr. 
Ward,  sent  by  her  husband  and  my  brother  a  very 
kind  and  pressing  invitation  to  Rebecca  and  my 
self  to  make  a  visit  to  her ;  and  Mr.  Saltonstall  did 
also  urge  the  matter  strongly.  So  we  have  agreed 
to  go  with  them  the  day  after  to-morrow.  Now,  to 
say  the  truth,  I  am  not  sorry  to  leave  Newburv  at 
this  time,  for  there  is  so  much  talk  of  the  be 
witched  house,  and  such  dismal  stories  told  of  the 
power  of  invisible  demons,  added  to  what  I  did 
myself  hear  and  see  yesterday,  that  I  can  scarce 
sleep  for  the  trouble  and  disquiet  this  matter  caus- 
eth.  Dr.  Russ,  who  left  this  morning,  said,  in  his 
opinion,  the  less  that  was  said  and  done  about  the 
witchcraft  the  better  for  the  honor  of  the  Church 
and  the  peace  of  the  neighborhood ;  for  it  might, 


102        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

after  all,  turn  out  to  be  nothing  more  than  an  "  old 
wife's  fable ; "  but  if  it  were  indeed  the  work  of 
Satan,  it  could,  he  did  believe,  do  no  harm  to  sin 
cere  and  godly  people,  who  lived  sober  and  prayer 
ful  lives,  and  kept  themselves  busy  in  doing  good. 
The  doers  of  the  Word  seldom  fell  into  the  snare 
of  the  Devil's  enchantments.  He  might  be  com 
pared  to  a  wild  beast,  who  dareth  not  to  meddle 
with  the  traveller  who  goeth'  straightway  on  his 
errand,  but  lieth  in  wait  for  such  as  loiter  and  fall 
asleep  by  the  wayside.  He  feared,  he  said,  that 
some  in  our  day  were  trying  to  get  a  great  charac 
ter  to  themselves,  as  the  old  monks  did,  by  their 
skill  in  discerning  witchcrafts,  and  their  pretended 
conflicts  with  the  Devil  in  his  bodily  shape ;  and 
thus,  while  they  were  seeking  to  drive  the  enemy 
out  of  their  neighbors'  houses,  they  were  letting 
him  into  their  own  hearts,  in  the  guise  of  deceit 
and  spiritual  pride.  Repentance  and  works  meet 
for  it  were  the  best  exorcism  ;  and  the  savor  of  a 
good  life  driveth  off  Evil  Spirits,  even  as  that  of 
the  fish  of  Tobit,  at  Ecbatana,  drove  the  Devil 
from  the  chamber  of  the  bride  into  the  uttermost 
parts  of  Egypt.  "  For  mine  own  part,"  continued 
the  worthy  man,  "  I  believe  the  Lord  and  Master, 
whom  I  seek  to  serve,  is  over  all  the  powers  of 
Satan ;  therefore  do  I  not  heed  them,  being  afraid 
only  of  mine  own  accusing  conscience  and  the  dis 
pleasure  of  God." 

We  are  all  loath  to  lose  the  good  Doctor's  com 
pany.  An  Israelite  indeed !  My  aunt,  who  once 
tarried  for  a  little  time  with  him  for  the  benefit  of 
his  skill  in  physic,  on  account  of  sickness,  tells  me 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        103 

that  he  is  as  a  father  to  the  people  about  him,  ad 
vising  them  in  all  their  temporal  concerns,  and 
bringing  to  a  timely  and  wise  settlement  all  their 
disputes,  so  that  there  is  nowhere  a  more  prosper 
ous  and  loving  society.  Although  accounted  a 
learned  man,  he  doth  not  perplex  his  hearers,  as 
the  manner  of  some  is,  with  dark  and  difficult  ques 
tions,  and  points  of  doctrine,  but  insisteth  mainly 
on  holiness  of  life  and  conversation.  It  is  said 
that  on  one  occasion,  a  famous  schoolman  and  dis- 
puter  from  abroad,  coming  to  talk  with  him  on  the 
matter  of  the  damnation  of  infants,  did  meet  him 
with  a  cradle  on  his  shoulder,  which  he  was  carry 
ing  to  a  young  mother  in  his  neighborhood,  and 
when  the  man  told  him  his  errand,  the  good  Doctor 
bade  him  wait  until  he  got  back,  "  for,"  said  he,  "  I 
hold  it  to  be  vastly  more  important  to  take  care  of 
the  bodies  of  the  little  infants  which  God  in  his 
love  sends  among  us,  than  to  seek  to  pry  into  the 
mysteries  of  His  will  concerning  their  souls."  He 
hath  no  salary  or  tithe,  save  the  use  of  a  house  and 
farm,  choosing  rather  to  labor  with  his  own  hands 
than  to  burden  his  neighbors  ;  yet,  such  is  their 
love  and  good-will,  that  in  the  busy  seasons  of  the 
hay  and  corn  harvest,  they  all  join  together  and 
help  him  in  his  fields,  counting  it  a  special  privi 
lege  to  do  so. 

November  19. 

Leonard  and  Mr.  Kichardson,  talking  upon  the 
matter  of  the  ministry,  disagreed  not  a  little.  Mr. 
Richardson  says  my  brother  hath  got  into  his  head 
many  unscriptural  notions,  and  that  he  will  never 


104        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

be  of  service  in  the  Church  until  he  casts  them  off. 
He  saith,  moreover,  that  he  shall  write  to  Mr. 
Ward  concerning  the  errors  of  the  young  man. 
His  words  troubling  me,  I  straightway  discoursed 
my  brother  as  to  the  points  of  difference  between 
them;  but  he,  smiling,  said  it  was  a  long  story, 
but  that  some  time  he  would  tell  me  the  substance 
of  the  disagreement,  bidding  me  have  no  fear  in  his 
behalf,  as  what  had  displeasured  Mr.  Richardson 
had  arisen  only  from  tenderness  of  conscience. 

HAVERHILL,  November  22. 

Left  Newbury  day  before  yesterday.  The  day 
cold,  but  sunshiny,  and  not  unpleasant.  Mr.  Sal- 
tonstall's  business  calling  him  that  way,  we  crossed 
over  the  ferry  to  Salisbury,  and  after  a  ride  of  about 
an  hour,  got  to  the  Falls  of  the  Powow  River, 
where  a  great  stream  of  water  rushes  violently 
down  the  rocks,  into  a  dark  wooded  valley,  and 
from  thence  runs  into  the  Merrimac,  about  a  mile 
to  the  southeast.  A  wild  sight  it  was,  the  water 
swollen  by  the  rains  of  the  season,  foaming  and 
dashing  among  the  rocks  and  the  trees,  which  lat 
ter  were  wellnigh  stripped  of  their  leaves.  Leav 
ing  this  place,  we  went  on  towards  Haverhill. 
Just  before  we  entered  that  town,  we  overtook  an 
Indian,  with  a  fresh  wolf's  skin  hanging  over  his 
shoulder.  As  soon  as  he  saw  us,  he  tried  to  hide 
himself  in  the  bushes ;  but  Mr.  Saltonstall,  riding 
up  to  him,  asked  him  if  he  did  expect  Haverhill 
folks  to  pay  him  forty  shillings  for  killing  that 
Amesbury  wolf?  "How  you  know  Amesbury 
wolf  ?  "  asked  the  Indian.  "  Oh,"  said  Mr.  Salton- 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        105 

stall,  "you  can't  cheat  us  again,  Simon.  You 
must  be  honest,  and  tell  no  more  lies,  or  we  will 
have  you  whipped  for  your  tricks."  The  Indian 
thereupon  looked  sullen  enough,  but  at  length  he 
begged  Mr.  Saltonstall  not  to  tell  where  the  wolf 
was  killed,  as  the  Amesbury  folks  did  now  refuse 
to  pay  for  any  killed  in  their  town ;  and,  as  he  was 
a  poor  Indian,  and  his  squaw  much  sick,  and  could 
do  no  work,  he  did  need  the  money.  Mr.  Salton 
stall  told  him  he  would  send  his  wife  some  corn- 
meal  and  bacon,  when  he  got  home,  if  he  would 
come  for  them,  which  he  promised  to  do. 

When  we  had  ridden  off,  and  left  him,  Mr.  Sal 
tonstall  told  us  that  this  Simon  was  a  bad  Indian, 
who,  when  in  drink,  was  apt  to  be  saucy  and  quar 
relsome  ;  but  that  his  wife  was  quite  a  decent  body 
for  a  savage,  having  long  maintained  herself  and 
children  and  her  lazy,  cross  husband,  by  hard  labor 
in  the  cornfields  and  at  the  fisheries. 
.  Haverhill  lieth  very  pleasantly  on  the  river-side  ; 
the  land  about  hilly  and  broken,  but  of  good  qual 
ity.  Mr.  Saltonstall  liveth  in  a  stately  house  for 
these  parts,  not  far  from  that  of  his  father-in-law, 
the  learned  Mr.  Ward.  Madam,  his  wife,  is  a  fair, 
pleasing  young  woman,  not  unused  to  society,  their 
house  being  frequented  by  many  of  the  first  people 
hereabout,  as  well  as  by  strangers  of  distinction 
from  other  parts  of  the  country.  We  had  hardly 
got  well  through  our  dinner  (which  was  abundant 
and  savory,  being  greatly  relished  by  our  hunger), 
when  two  gentlemen  came  riding  up  to  the  door ; 
and  on  their  coming  in,  we  found  them  to  be  the 
young  Doctor  Clark,  of  Boston,  a  son  of  the  old 


106        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

Newbury  physician,  and  a  Doctor  Benjamin  Thomp 
son,  of  Roxbury,  who  I  hear  is  not  a  little  famous 
for  his  ingenious  poetry  and  witty  pieces  on  many 
subjects.  He  was,  moreover,  an  admirer  of  my 
cousin  Rebecca ;  and  on  learning  of  her  betrothal 
to  Sir  Thomas  did  write  a  most  despairing  verse 
to  her,  comparing  himself  to  all  manner  of  lone 
some  things,  so  that  when  Rebecca  showed  it  to 
me,  I  told  her  I  did  fear  the  poor  young  gentle 
man  would  put  an  end  to  himself,  by  reason  of  his 
great  sorrow  and  disquiet ;  whereat  she  laughed 
merrily,  bidding  me  not  fear,  for  she  knew  the 
writer  too  well  to  be  troubled  thereat,  for  he  loved 
nobody  so  well  as  himself,  and  that  under  no  provo 
cation  would  he  need  the  Apostle's  advice  to  the 
jailer,  "Do  thyself  no  harm."  All  which  I  found 
to  be  true,  —  he  being  a  gay,  witty  man,  full  of  a 
fine  conceit  of  himself,  which  is  not  so  much  to  be 
marvelled  at,  as  he  hath  been  greatly  flattered  and 
sought  after. 

The  excellent  Mr.  Ward  spent  the  evening  with 
us ;  a  pleasant,  social  old  man,  much  beloved  by 
his  people.  He  told  us  a  great  deal  about  the 
early  settlement  of  the  town,  and  of  the  grievous 
hardships  which  many  did  undergo  the  first  season, 
from  cold,  and  hunger,  and  sickness.  He  thought, 
however,  that,  with  all  their  ease  and  worldly  pros 
perity,  the  present  generation  were  less  happy  and 
contented  than  their  fathers  ;  for  there  was  now  a 
great  striving  to  outdo  each  other  in  luxury  and 
gay  apparel ;  the  Lord's  day  was  not  so  well  kept 
as  formerly ;  and  the  drinking  of  spirits  and  fre 
quenting  of  ordinaries  and  places  of  public  resort 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        107 

vastly  increased.  Mr.  Saltonstall  said  the  war  did 
not  a  little  demoralize  the  people,  and  that  since 
the  soldiers  came  back,  there  had  been  much 
trouble  in  Church  and  State.  The  General  Court, 
two  years  ago,  had  made  severe  laws  against  the 
provoking  evils  of  the  times :  profaneness,  Sab 
bath-breaking,  drinking,  and  revelling  to  excess, 
loose  and  sinful  conduct  on  the  part  of  the  young 
and  unmarried,  pride  in  dress,  attending  Quakers' 
meetings,  and  neglect  of  attendance  upon  divine 
worship ;  but  these  laws  had  never  been  well  en 
forced  ;  and  he  feared  too  many  of  the  magistrates 
were  in  the  condition  of  the  Dutch  Justice  in  the 
New  York  Province,  who,  when  a  woman  was 
brought  before  him  charged  with  robbing  a  hen 
roost,  did  request  his  brother  on  the  bench  to  pass 
sentence  upon  her;  for,  said  he,  if  I  send  her  to 
the  whipping-post,  the  wench  will  cry  out  against 
me  as  her  accomplice. 

Doctor  Clark  said  his  friend  Doctor  Thompson 
had  written  a  long  piece  on  this  untoward  state  of 
our  affairs,  which  he  hoped  soon  to  see  in  print, 
inasmuch  as  it  did  hold  the  looking-glass  to  the  face 
of  this  generation,  and  shame  it  by  a  comparison 
with  that  of  the  generation  which  has  passed.  Mr. 
Ward  said  he  was  glad  to  hear  of  it,  and  hoped  his 
ingenious  friend  had  brought  the  manuscript  with 
him  ;  whereupon,  the  young  gentleman  said  he  did 
take  it  along  with  him,  in  the  hope  to  benefit  it  by 
Mr.  Ward's  judgment  and  learning,  and  with  the 
leave  of  the  company  he  would  read  the  Prologue 
thereof.  To  which  we  all  agreeing,  he  read  what 
follows,  which  I  copy  from  his  book :  — 


108        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

"  The  times  wherein  old  PUMPKIN  was  a  saint, 
When  men  fared  hardly,  yet  without  complaint, 
On  vilest  cates ;  the  dainty  Indian  maize 
Was  eat  with  clam-shells  out  of  wooden  trays, 
Under  thatched  roofs,  without  the  cry  of  rent, 
And  the  best  sauce  to  every  dish,  content,  — 
These  golden  times  (too  fortunate  to  hold) 
Were  quickly  sinned  away  for  love  of  gold. 
'T  was  then  among  the  bushes,  not  the  street, 
If  one  in  place  did  an  inferior  meet, 

4  Good  morrow,  brother !     Is  there  aught  you  want  ? 
Take  freely  of  me  what  I  have,  you  ha' n't.' 
Plain  Tom  and  Dick  would  pass  as  current  now, 
As  ever  since  '  Your  servant,  sir, '  and  bow. 
Deep-skirted  doublets,  puritanic  capes, 
Which  now  would  render  men  like  upright  apes, 
Was  comelier  wear,  our  wise  old  fathers  thought, 
Than  the  cast  fashions  from  all  Europe  brought. 
'T  was  in  those  days  an  honest  grace  would  hold 
Till  an  hot  pudding  grew  at  heart  a-cold, 
And  men  had  better  stomachs  for  religion, 
Than  now  for  capon,  turkey-cock,  or  pigeon  ; 
When  honest  sisters  met  to  pray,  not  prate, 
About  their  own  and  not  their  neighbors'  state, 
During  Plain  Dealing's  reign,  that  worthy  stud 
Of  the  ancient  planter-race  before  the  Flood. 
These  times  were  good  :  merchants  cared  not  a  rush 
For  other  fare  than  jonakin  and  mush. 
And  though  men  fared  and  lodged  very  hard, 
Yet  innocence  was  better  than  a  guard. 
'T  was  long  before  spiders  and  worms  had  drawn 
Their  dingy  webs,  or  hid  with  cheating  lawn 
New  England's  beauties,  which  still  seemed  to  me 
Illustrious  in  their  own  simplicity. 
'T  was  ere  the  neighboring  Virgin  Land  had  broke 
The  hogsheads  of  her  worse  than  hellish  smoke  ; 
'T  was  ere  the  Islands  sent  their  presents  in, 
Which  but  to  use  was  counted  next  to  sin  ; 
'T  was  ere  a  barge  had  made  so  rich  a  freight 
As  chocolate,  dust-gold,  and  bits  of  eight ; 
Ere  wines  from  France  and  Muscovado  too, 
Without  the  which  the  drink  will  scarcely  do. 
From  Western  Isles,  ere  fruits  and  delicacies 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        109 

Did  rot  maids'  teeth  and  spoil  their  handsome  faces, 

Or  ere  these  times  did  chance  the  noise  of  war 

Was  from  our  times,  and  hearts  removed  far, 

Then  had  the  churches  rest :  as  yet,  the  coals 

Were  covered  up  in  most  contentious  souls  ; 

Freeness  in  judgment,  union  in  affection, 

Dear  love,  sound  truth,  they  were  our  grand  protection. 

Then  were  the  times  in  which  our  Councils  sat, 

These  grave  prognostics  of  our  future  state  ; 

If  these  be  longer  lived,  our  hopes  increase, 

These  wars  will  usher  in  a  longer  peace ; 

But  if  New  England's  love  die  in  its  youth, 

The  grave  will  open  next  for  blessed  truth. 

"  This  theme  is  out  of  date  ;  the  peaceful  hours 
When  castles  needed  not,  but  pleasant  bowers, 
Not  ink,  but  blood  and  tears  now  serve  the  turn 
To  draw  the  figure  of  New  England's  urn. 
New  England's  hour  of  passion  is  at  hand, 
No  power  except  Divine  can  it  withstand. 
Scarce  hath  her  glass  of  fifty  years  run  out, 
Than  her  old  prosperous  steeds  turn  heads  about ; 
Tracking  themselves  back  to  their  poor  beginnings, 
To  fear  and  fare  upon  the  fruits  of  sinnings. 
So  that  this  mirror  of  the  Christian  world 
Lies  burnt  to  heaps  in  part,  her  streamers  furled. 
Grief  sighs,  joys  flee,  and  dismal  fears  surprise, 
Not  dastard  spirits  only,  but  the  wise. 

"  Thus  have  the  fairest  hopes  deceived  the  eye 
Of  the  big-swoln  expectants  standing  by  : 
So  the  proud  ship,  after  a  little  turn, 
Sinks  in  the  ocean's  arms  to  find  its  urn : 
Thus  hath  the  heir  to  many  thousands  born 
Been  in  an  instant  from  the  mother  torn ; 
Even  thus  thy  infant  cheek  begins  to  pale, 
And  thy  supporters  through  great  losses  fail. 
This  is  the  Prologue  to  thy  future  woe  — 
The  Epilogue  no  mortal  yet  can  know." 

Mr.  Ward  was  much  pleased  with  the  verses, 
saying  that  they  would  do  honor  to  any  writer. 


110        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

Rebecca  thought  the  lines  concerning  the  long 
grace  at  meat  happy,  and  said  she  was  minded  of 
the  wife  of  the  good  Mr.  Ames,  who  prided  her 
self  on  her  skill  in  housewifery  and  cookery ;  and 
on  one  occasion,  seeing  a  nice  pair  of  roasted 
fowls  growing  cold  under  her  husband's  long 
grace,  was  fain  to  jog  his  elbow,  telling  him  that 
if  he  did  not  stop  soon,  she  feared  they  would 
have  small  occasion  for  thankfulness  for  their 
spoiled  dinner.  Mr.  Ward  said  he  was  once  trav 
elling  in  company  with  Mr.  Phillips  of  Rowley, 
and  Mr.  Parker  of  Newbury,  and  stopping  all 
night  at  a  poor  house  near  the  sea-shore,  the 
woman  thereof  brought  into  the  room  for  their 
supper  a  great  wooden  tray,  full  of  something 
nicely  covered  up  by  a  clean  linen  cloth.  It 
proved  to  be  a  dish  of  boiled  clams,  in  their  shells ; 
and  as  Mr.  Phillips  was  remarkable  in  his  thanks 
for  aptly  citing  passages  of  Scripture  with  regard 
to  whatsoever  food  was  upon  the  table  before  him, 
Mr.  Parker  and  himself  did  greatly  wonder  what 
he  could  say  of  this  dish ;  but  he,  nothing  put 
to  it,  offered  thanks  that  now,  as  formerly,  the 
Lord's  people  were  enabled  to  partake  of  the 
abundance  of  the  seas,  and  treasures  hid  in  the 
sands.  "  Whereat,"  said  Mr.  Ward,  "  we  did 
find  it  so  hard  to  keep  grave  countenances,  that 
our  good  hostess  was  not  a  little  disturbed,  think 
ing  we  were  mocking  her  poor  fare ;  and  we  were 
fain  to  tell  her  the  cause  of  our  mirth,  which  was 
indeed  ill-timed." 

Doctor  Clark  spake  of  Mr.  Ward's  father,  the 
renowned   minister   at    Ipswich,   whose    book   of 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        111 

"  The  Simple  Cobbler  of  Agawam,"  was  much  ad 
mired.  Mr.  Ward  said  that  some  of  the  witty  turns 
therein  did  give  much  offence  at  the  time  of  its 
printing,  but  that  his  father  could  never  spoil  his 
joke  for  the  sake  of  friends,  albeit  he  had  no  mal 
ice  towards  any  one,  and  was  always  ready  to  do  a 
good,  even  to  his  enemies.  He  once  even  greatly 
angered  his  old  and  true  friend,  Mr.  Cotton  of  Bos 
ton.  "  It  fell  out  in  this  wise,"  said  Mr.  Ward. 
"  When  the  arch  heretic  and  fanatic  Gorton  and 
his  crew  were  in  prison  in  Boston,  my  father  and 
Mr.  Cotton  went  to  the  jail  window  to  see  them ; 
and  after  some  little  discourse  with  them,  he  told 
Gorton  that  if  he  had  done  or  said  anything  which 
he  could  with  a  clear  conscience  renounce,  he 
would  do  well  to  recant  the  same,  and  the  Court, 
he  doubted  not,  would  be  merciful ;  adding,  that  it 
would  be  no  disparagement  for  him  to  do  so,  as  the 
best  of  men  were  liable  to  err :  as,  for  instance,  his 
brother  Cotton  here  generally  did  preach  that  one 
year  which  he  publicly  repented  of  before  his  con 
gregation  the  next  year." 

Mr.  Saltonstall  told  another  story  of  old  Mr. 
W^ard,  which  made  us  all  merry.  There  was  a 
noted  Antinomian,  of  Boston,  who  used  to  go 
much  about  the  country  disputing  with  all  who 
would  listen  to  him,  who,  coming  to  Ipswich  one 
night,  with  another  of  his  sort  with  him,  would  fain 
have  tarried  with  Mr.  Ward  ;  but  he  told  them  that 
he  had  scarce  hay  and  grain  enough  in  his  barn  for 
the  use  of  his  own  cattle,  and  that  they  would  do 
well  to  take  their  horses  to  the  ordinary,  where  they 
would  be  better  cared  for.  But  the  fellow,  not 


112        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

wishing  to  be  so  put  off,  bade  him  consider  what 
the  Scripture  said  touching  the  keeping  of  stran 
gers,  as  some  had  thereby  entertained  angels  un 
awares.  "  True,  my  friend,"  said  Mr.  Ward,  "  but 
we  don't  read  that  the  angels  came  a-horseback  !  " 
The  evening  passed  away  in  a  very  pleasant  and 
agreeable  manner.  We  had  rare  nuts,  and  apples, 
and  pears,  of  Mr.  Saltonstall's  raising,  wonderfully 
sweet  and  luscious.  Our  young  gentlemen,  more 
over,  seemed  to  think  the  wine  and  ale  of  good 
quality  ;  for,  long  after  we  had  gone  to  our  beds, 
we  could  hear  them  talking  and  laughing  in  the 
great  hall  below,  notwithstanding  that  Mr.  Ward, 
when  he  took  leave,  bade  Doctor  Thompson  take 
heed  to  his  own  hint  concerning  the 

"  Wines  from  France  and  Muscovado  too ;  " 

to  which  the  young  wit  replied,  that  there  was 
Scripture  warrant  for  his  drinking,  inasmuch  as 
the  command  was,  to  give  wine  to  those  that  be 
of  heavy  heart.  Let  Mm  drink,  and  forget  Ms 
poverty,  and  remember  his  misery  no  more  ;  and, 
for  his  part,  he  had  been  little  better  than  miser 
able  ever  since  he  heard  of  Rebecca's  betrothal. 
A  light,  careless  man,  but  of  good  parts,  and  as 
brave  a  talker  as  I  have  heard  since  I  have  been 
in  the  Colony. 

November  24. 

Mr.  Ward's  negro  girl  Dinah  came  for  me  yester 
day,  saying  that  her  master  did  desire  to  see  me. 
So,  marvelling  greatly  what  he  wanted,  I  went 
with  her,  and  was  shown  into  the  study.  Mr. 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL         113 

Ward  said  he  had  sent  for  me  to  have  some  dis 
course  in  regard  to  my  brother  Leonard,  who  he 
did  greatly  fear  was  likely  to  make  shipwreck  of 
the  faith  ;  and  that  Mr.  Richardson  had  written 
him  concerning  the  young  man,  telling  him  that  he 
did  visit  the  Quakers  when  at  Newbury,  and  even 
went  over  to  their  conventicle  at  Hampton,  on  the 
Lord's  day,  in  the  company  of  the  Brewster  fam 
ily,  noted  Quakers  and  ranters.  He  had  the  last 
evening  had  some  words  with  the  lad,  but  with 
small  satisfaction.  Being  sorely  troubled  by  this 
account,  I  begged  him  to  send  for  Leonard,  which 
he  did,  and,  when  he  did  come  into  the  room,  Mr. 
Ward  told  him  that  he  might  see  by  the  plight  of 
his  sister  (for  I  was  in  tears)  what  a  great  grief 
he  was  like  to  bring  upon  his  family  and  friends, 
by  running  out  into  heresies.  Leonard  said  he 
was  sorry  to  give  trouble  to  any  one,  least  of  all  to 
his  beloved  sister ;  that  he  did  indeed  go  to  the 
Quakers'  meeting,  on  one  occasion,  to  judge  for 
himself  concerning  this  people,  who  are  every 
where  spoken  against ;  and  that  he  must  say  he  did 
hear  or  see  nothing  in  their  worship  contrary  to 
the  Gospel.  There  was,  indeed,  but  little  said,  but 
the  words  were  savory  and  Scriptural.  "•  But  they 
deny  the  Scriptures,"  cried  Mr.  Ward,  "  and  set 
above  them  what  they  call  the  Light,  which  I  take 
to  be  nothing  better  than  their  own  imaginations." 
"I  do  not  so  understand  them,"  said  Leonard;  "  I 
think  they  do  diligently  study  the  Scripture,  and 
seek  to  conform  their  lives  to  its  teachings ;  and 
for  the  Light  of  which  they  speak,  it  is  borne 
witness  to  not  only  in  the  Bible,  but  by  the  early 


114        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

fathers  and  devout  men  of  all  ages.  I  do  not  go 
to  excuse  the  Quakers  in  all  that  they  have  done, 
nor  to  defend  all  their  doctrines  and  practices, 
many  of  which  I  see  no  warrant  in  Scripture  for, 
but  believe  to  be  pernicious  and  contrary  to  good 
order ;  yet  I  must  need  look  upon  them  as  a  sober, 
earnest-seeking  people,  who  do  verily  think  them 
selves  persecuted  for  righteousness'  sake."  Here 
upon  Mr.  Ward  struck  his  cane  smartly  on  the 
floor,  and,  looking  severely  at  my  brother,  bade 
him  beware  how  he  did  justify  these  canting  and 
false  pretenders.  "  They  are,"  he  said,  "  either 
sad  knaves,  or  silly  enthusiasts,  —  they  pretend  to 
Divine  Revelation,  and  set  up  as  prophets ;  like 
the  Kosicrucians  and  Gnostics,  they  profess  to  a 
knowledge  of  things  beyond  what  plain  Scripture 
reveals.  The  best  that  can  be  said  of  them  is,  that 
they  are  befooled  by  their  own  fancies,  and  the 
victims  of  distempered  brains  and  ill  habits  of 
body.  Then  their  ranting  against  the  Gospel  order 
of  the  Church,  and  against  the  ministers  of  Christ, 
calling  us  all  manner  of  hirelings,  wolves,  and 
hypocrites ;  belching  out  their  blasphemies  against 
the  ordinances  and  the  wholesome  laws  of  the  land 
for  the  support  of  a  sound  ministry  and  faith,  do 
altogether  justify  the  sharp  treatment  they  have 
met  with ;  so  that,  if  they  have  not  all  lost  their 
ears,  they  may  thank  our  clemency  rather  than 
their  own  worthiness  to  wear  them.  I  do  not 
judge  of  them  ignorantly,  for  I  have  dipped  into 
their  books,  where,  what  is  not  downright  blas 
phemy  and  heresy,  is  mystical  and  cabalistic. 
They  affect  a  cloudy  and  canting  style,  as  if  to 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL       115 

keep  themselves  from  being  confuted  by  keeping 
themselves  from  being  understood.  Their  divinity 
is  a  riddle,  a  piece  of  black  art;  the  Scripture 
they  turn  into  allegory  and  parabolical  conceits, 
and  thus  obscure  and  debauch  the  truth.  Argue 
with  them,  and  they  fall  to  divining  ;  reason  with 
them,  and  they  straightway  prophesy.  Then  their 
silent  meetings,  so  called,  in  the  which  they  do 
pretend  to  justify  themselves  by  quoting  Revela 
tion,  "There  was  silence  in  heaven;"  whereas 
they  might  find  other  authorities,  —  as,  for  in 
stance  in  Psalm  115,  where  hell  is  expressed  by  si 
lence,  and  in  the  Gospel,  where  we  read  of  a  dumb 
devil.  As  to  persecuting  these  people,  we  have 
been  quite  too  charitable  to  them,  especially  of 
late,  and  they  are  getting  bolder  in  consequence ; 
as,  for  example,  the  behavior  of  that  shameless 
young  wench  in  Newbury,  who  disturbed  Brother 
Richardson's  church  with  her  antics  not  long  ago. 
She  should  have  been  tied  to  the  cart-tail  and 
whipped  all  the  way  to  Rhode  Island. 

"  Do  you  speak  of  Margaret  Brewster  ?  "  asked 
Leonard,  his  face  all  a-crimson,  and  his  lip  quiv 
ering.  "Let  me  tell  you,  Mr.  Ward,  that  you 
greatly  wrong  one  of  Christ's  little  ones."  And 
he  called  me  to  testify  to  her  goodness  and  charity, 
and  the  blamelessness  of  her  life. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  of  the  blameless  life  of  such 
an  one,"  said  Mr.  Ward,  in  a  loud,  angry  tone ;  "  it 
is  the  Devil's  varnish  for  heresy.  The  Manichees, 
and  the  Pelagians,  and  Socinians,  all  did  profess 
great  strictness  and  sanctity  of  life ;  and  there 
never  was  heretic  yet,  from  they  whom  the  Apostle 


116         MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

makes  mention  of,  who  fasted  from  meats,  giving 
heed  to  seducing  spirits  and  doctrines  of  devils, 
down  to  the  Quakers,  Dippers,  and  New  Lights  of 
this  generation  who  have  not,  like  their  fathers  of 
old,  put  on  the  shape  of  Angels  of  Light,  and  lived 
severe  and  over-strict  lives.  I  grant  that  the 
Quakers  are  honest  in  their  dealings,  making  great 
show  of  sobriety  and  self-denial,  and  abhor  the 
practice  of  scandalous  vices,  being  temperate, 
chaste,  and  grave  in  their  behavior,  and  thereby 
they  win  upon  unstable  souls,  and  make  plausible 
their  damnable  heresies.  I  warn  you,  young  man, 
to  take  heed  of  them,  lest  you  be  ensnared  and 
drawn  into  their  way." 

My  brother  was  about  to  reply,  but,  seeing  Mr. 
Ward  so  moved  and  vexed,  I  begged  of  him  to  say 
no  more ;  and,  company  coming  in,  the  matter  was 
dropped,  to  my  great  joy.  I  went  back  much 
troubled  and  disquieted  for  my  brother's  sake. 

November  28,  1678. 

Leonard  hath  left  Mr.  Ward,  and  given  up  the 
thought  of  fitting  for  the  ministry.  This  will  be 
a  heavy  blow  for  his  friends  in  England.  He  tells 
me  that  Mr.  Ward  spake  angrily  to  him  after  I 
left,  but  that,  when  he  come  to  part  with  him,  the 
old  man  wept  over  him,  and  prayed  that  the  Lord 
would  enable  him  to  see  his  error,  and  preserve 
him  from  the  consequences  thereof.  I  have  dis 
coursed  with  my  brother  touching  his  future  course 
of  life,  and  he  tells  me  he  shall  start  in  a  day  or 
two  to  visit  the  Ehode  Island,  where  he  hath  an 
acquaintance,  one  Mr.  Easton,  formerly  of  New- 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        117 

bury.  His  design  is  to  purchase  a  small  plantation 
there,  and  betake  himself  to  farming,  of  the  which 
he  hath  some  little  knowledge,  believing  that  he 
can  be  as  happy  and  do  as  much  good  to  his  fellow- 
creatures  in  that  employment  as  in  any  other. 

Here  Cousin  Rebecca,  who  was  by,  looking  up 
with  that  sweet  archness  which  doth  so  well  become 
her,  queried  with  him  whether  he  did  think  to  live 
alone  on  his  plantation  like  a  hermit,  or  whether 
he  had  not  his  eye  upon  a  certain  fair-haired  young 
woman,  as  suitable  to  keep  him  company.  Where 
at  he  seemed  a  little  disturbed ;  but  she  bade  him 
not  think  her  against  his  prospect,  for  she  had 
known  for  some  weeks  that  he  did  favor  the  young 
Brewster  woman,  who,  setting  aside  her  enthusias 
tic  notions  of  religion,  was  worthy  of  any  man's 
love ;  and  turning  to  me,  she  begged  of  me  to  look 
at  the  matter  as  she  did,  and  not  set  myself  against 
the  choice  of  my  brother,  which,  in  all  respects 
save  the  one  she  had  spoken  of,  she  could  approve 
with  all  her  heart.  Leonard  goes  back  with  us 
to-morrow  to  Newbury,  so  I  shall  have  a  chance  of 
knowing  how  matters  stand  with  him.  The  thought 
of  his  marrying  a  Quaker  would  have  been  exceed 
ingly  grievous  to  me  a  few  months  ago ;  but  this 
Margaret  Brewster  hath  greatly  won  upon  me  by 
her  beauty,  gentleness,  and  her  goodness  of  heart ; 
and,  besides,  I  know  that  she  is  much  esteemed  by 
the  best  sort  of  people  in  her  neighborhood. 

Doctor  Thompson  left  this  morning,  but  his 
friend  Doctor  Clark  goes  with  us  to  Newbury. 
Rebecca  found  in  her  work-basket,  after  he  had 
gone,  some  verses,  which  amused  us  not  a  little, 
and  which  I  here  copy. 


118        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

"  Gone  hath  the  Spring,  with  all  its  flowers, 
And  gone  the  Summer's  pomp  and  show 
And  Autumn  in  his  leafless  bowers 
Is  waiting  for  the  Winter's  snow. 

"  I  said  to  Earth,  so  cold  and  gray, 

'  An  emblem  of  myself  thou  art :  ' 
'  Not  so/  the  earth  did  seem  to  say, 

'  For  Spring  shall  warm  my  frozen  heart. 

"  *  I  soothe  my  wintry  sleep  with  dreams 

Of  warmer  sun  and  softer  rain, 
And  wait  to  hear  the  sound  of  streams 
And  songs  of  merry  birds  again. 

" '  But  thou,  from  whom  the  Spring  hath  gone, 

For  whom  the  flowers  no  longer  blow, 
Who  standest,  blighted  and  forlorn, 
Like  Autumn  waiting  for  the  snow  : 

"  *  No  hope  is  thine  of  sunnier  hours, 

Thy  winter  shall  no  more  depart ; 
No  Spring  revive  thy  wasted  flowers, 
Nor  Summer  warm  thy  frozen  heart. ' " 

Doctor  Clark,  on  hearing  this  read,  told  Kebecca 
she  need  not  take  its  melancholy  to  heart,  for  he 
could  assure  her  that  there  was  no  danger  of  his 
friend's  acting  on  her  account  the  sad  part  of  the 
lover  in  the  old  song  of  Barbara  Allen.  As  a  med 
ical  man,  he  could  safely  warrant  him  to  be  heart- 
whole  ;  and  the  company  could  bear  him  witness, 
that  the  poet  himself  seemed  very  little  like  the 
despairing  one  depicted  in  his  verses. 

The  Indian  Simon  calling  this  forenoon,  Rebecca 
and  I  went  into  the  kitchen  to  see  him.  He  looke 
fierce  and  cruel,  but  he  thanked  Madam  Salton- 
stall  for  her  gifts  of  food  and  clothing,  and,  giving 
her  in  return  a  little  basket  wrought  of  curiously 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        119 

stained  stuff,  he  told  her  that  if  there  were  more 
like  her,  his  heart  would  not  be  so  bitter. 

I  ventured  to  ask  him  why  he  felt  thus  ;  where 
upon  he  drew  himself  up,  and,  sweeping  about  him 
with  his  arms,  said  :  u  This  all  Indian  land.  The 
Great  Spirit  made  it  for  Indians.  He  made  the 
great  river  for  them,  and  birch-trees  to  make  their 
canoes  of.  All  the  fish  in  the  ponds,  and  all  the 
pigeons  and  deer  and  squirrels  he  made  for  In 
dians.  He  made  land  for  white  men  too ;  but  they 
left  it,  and  took  Indian's  land,  because  it  was  bet 
ter.  My  father  was  a  chief ;  he  had  plenty  meat 
and  corn  in  his  wigwam.  But  Simon  is  a  dog. 
When  they  fight  Eastern  Indians,  I  try  to  live  in 
peace ;  but  they  say,  Simon,  you  rogue,  you  no  go 
into  woods  to  hunt ;  you  keep  at  home.  So  when 
squaw  like  to  starve,  I  shoot  one  of  their  hogs,  and 
then  they  whip  me.  Look !  "  And  he  lifted  the 
blanket  off  from  his  shoulder,  and  showed  the 
marks  of  the  whip  thereon. 

"  Well,  well,  Simon,"  said  Mr.  Saltonstall,  "  you 
do  know  that  our  people  then  were  much  fright 
ened  by  what  the  Indians  had  done  in  other  places, 
and  they  feared  you  would  join  them.  But  it  is  all 
over  now,  and  you  have  all  the  woods  to  yourself 
to  range  in  ;  and  if  you  would  let  alone  strong 
drink,  you  would  do  well." 

"  Who  makes  strong  drink  ?  "  asked  the  Indian, 
with  an  ugly  look.  "Who  takes  the  Indian's 
beaver-skins  and  corn  for  it?  Tell  me  that, 
Captain." 

So  saying,  he  put  his  pack  on  his  back,  and  call 
ing  a  poor,  lean  dog,  that  was  poking  his  hungry 


120        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

nose  into  Madam's  pots  and  kettles,  he  went  off 
talking  to  himself. 

NEWBURY,  December  6. 

We  got  back  from  Haverhill  last  night,  Doc 
tor  Clark  accompanying  us,  he  having  business  in 
Newbury.  When  we  came  up  to  the  door,  Effie 
met  us  with  a  shy  look,  and  told  her  mistress  that 
Mrs.  Prudence  (uncle's  spinster  cousin)  had  got  a 
braw  auld  wooer  in  the  east  room  ;  and  surely 
enough  we  found  our  ancient  kinswoman  and  Dea 
con  Dole,  a  widower  of  three  years'  standing,  sit 
ting  at  the  supper-table.  We  did  take  note  that 
the  Deacon  had  on  a  stiff  new  coat ;  and  as  for 
Aunt  Prudence  (for  so  she  was  called  in  the  fam 
ily),  she  was  clad  in  her  bravest,  with  a  fine  cap 
on  her  head.  They  both  did  seem  a  little  disturbed 
by  our  coming,  but  plates  being  laid  for  us,  we  sat 
down  with  them.  After  supper,  Rebecca  had  a 
fire  kindled  in  uncle's  room,  whither  we  did  betake 
ourselves  ;  and  being  very  merry  at  the  thought  of 
Deacon  Dole's  visit,  it  chanced  to  enter  our  silly 
heads  that  it  would  do  no  harm  to  stop  the  clock 
in  the  entry  a  while,  and  let  the  two  old  folks 
make  a  long  evening  of  it.  After  a  time  Re 
becca  made  an  errand  into  the  east  room,  to  see 
how  matters  went,  and  coming  back,  said  the  twain 
were  sitting  on  the  same  settle  by  the  fire,  smoking 
a  pipe  of  tobacco  together.  Moreover,  our  foolish 
trick  did  work  well,  for  Aunt  Prudence  coming  at 
last  into  the  entry  to  look  at  the  clock,  we  heard 
her  tell  the  Deacon  that  it  was  only  a  little  past 
eight,  when  in  truth  it  was  near  ten.  Not  long 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        121 

after  there  was  a  loud  knocking  at  the  door,  and 
as  Effie  had  gone  to  bed,  Rebecca  did  open  it, 
when,  whom  did  she  see  but  the  Widow  Hepsy 
Barnet,  Deacon  Dole's  housekeeper,  and  with  her 
the  Deacon's  son,  Moses,  and  the  minister,  Mr. 
Richardson,  with  a  lantern  in  his  hand  !  "  Dear 
me,"  says  the  woman,  looking  very  dismal,  "  have 
you  seen  anything  of  the  Deacon  ?  "  By  this  time 
we  were  all  at  the  door,  the  Deacon  and  Aunt 
Prudence  among  the  rest,  when  Moses,  like  a  great 
lout  as  he  is,  pulled  off  his  woollen  cap  and  tossed 
it  up  in  the  air,  crying  out,  "  There,  Goody  Barnet, 
did  n't  I  tell  ye  so !  There  's  father  now  !  "  And 
the  widow,  holding  up  both  her  hands,  said  she 
never  did  in  all  her  born  days  see  the  like  of  this, 
a  man  of  the  Deacon's  years  and  station  stealing 
away  without  letting  folks  know  where  to  look  for 
him ;  and  then  turning  upon  poor  Mrs.  Prudence, 
she  said  she  had  long  known  that  some  folks  were 
sly  and  artful,  and  she  was  glad  Mr.  Richardson 
was  here  to  see  for  himself.  Whereupon  Aunt 
Prudence,  in  much  amazement,  said,  it  was  scarce 
past  eight,  as  they  might  see  by  the  clock ;  but  Mr. 
Richardson,  who  could  scarce  keep  a  grave  face, 
pulling  out  his  watch,  said  it  was  past  ten,  and 
bade  her  note  that  the  clock  was  stopped.  He  told 
Deacon  Dole,  that  seeing  Goody  Barnet  so  troubled 
about  him,  he  had  offered  to  go  along  with  her  a 
little  way,  and  that  he  was  glad  to  find  that  the 
fault  was  in  the  clock.  The  Deacon,  who  had 
stood  like  one  in  a  maze,  here  clapped  on  his  hat, 
and  snatched  up  his  cane  and  went  off,  looking  as 
guilty  as  if  he  had  been  caught  a-housebreaking, 


122         MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

the  widow  scolding  him  all  the  way.  Now,  as  we 
could  scarce  refrain  from  laughing,  Mr.  Richard 
son,  who  tarried  a  moment,  shook  his  head  at 
Rebecca,  telling  her  he  feared  by  her  looks  she 
was  a  naughty  girl,  taking  pleasure  in  other  folk's 
trouble.  We  did  both  feel  ashamed  and  sorry 
enough  for  our  mischief,  after  it  was  all  over ;  and 
poor  Mistress  Prudence  is  so  sorely  mortified,  that 
she  told  Rebecca  this  morning  not  to  mention 
Deacon  Dole's  name  to  her  again,  and  that  Widow 
Hepsy  is  welcome  to  him,  since  he  is  so  mean- 
spirited  as  to  let  her  rule  him  as  she  doth. 

December  8. 

Yesterday  I  did,  at  my  brother's  wish,  go  with 
him  to  Goodman  Brewster's  house,  where  I  was 
kindly  welcomed  by  the  young  woman  and  her 
parents.  After  some  little  tarry,  I  found  means  to 
speak  privily  with  her  touching  my  brother's  re 
gard  for  her,  and  to  assure  her  that  I  did  truly 
and  freely  consent  thereunto ;  while  I  did  hope, 
for  his  sake  as  well  as  her  own,  that  she  would,  as 
far  as  might  be  consistent  with  her  notion  of  duty, 
forbear  to  do  or  say  anything  which  might  bring 
her  into  trouble  with  the  magistrates  and  those  in 
authority.  She  said  that  she  was  very  grateful  for 
my  kindness  towards  her,  and  that  what  I  said 
was  a  great  relief  to  her  mind ;  for  when  she  first 
met  my  brother,  she  did  fear  that  his  kindness  and 
sympathy  would  prove  a  snare  to  her;  and  that 
she  had  been  sorely  troubled,  moreover,  lest  by 
encouraging  him  she  should  not  only  do  violence 
to  her  own  conscience,  but  also  bring  trouble  and 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        123 

disgrace  upon  one  who  was,  she  did  confess,  dear 
unto  her,  not  only  as  respects  outward  things,  but 
by  reason  of  what  she  did  discern  of  an  innocent 
and  pure  inward  life  in  his  conversation  and  de 
portment.  She  had  earnestly  sought  to  conform 
her  conduct  in  this,  as  in  all  things,  to  the  mind  of 
her  Divine  Master ;  and,  as  respected  my  caution 
touching  those  in  authority,  she  knew  not  what  the 
Lord  might  require  of  her,  and  she  could  only 
leave  all  in  His  hands,  being  resigned  even  to  deny 
herself  of  the  sweet  solace  of  human  affection,  and 
to  take  up  the  cross  daily,  if  He  did  so  will.  "  Thy 
visit  and  kind  words,"  she  continued,  "have  re 
moved  a  great  weight  from  me.  The  way  seems 
more  open  before  me.  The  Lord  bless  thee  for 
thy  kindness." 

She  said  this  with  so  much  tenderness  of  spirit, 
and  withal  with  such  an  engaging  sweetness  of 
look  and  voice,  that  I  was  greatly  moved,  and, 
pressing  her  in  my  arms,  I  kissed  her,  and  bade 
her  look  upon  me  as  her  dear  sister. 

The  family  pressing  us,  we  stayed  to  supper,  and 
sitting  down  in  silence  at  the  table,  I  was  about  to 
speak  to  my  brother,  but  he  made  a  sign  to  check 
me,  and  I  held  my  peace,  although  not  then  know 
ing  wherefore.  So  we  all  sat  still  for  a  little  space 
of  time,  which  I  afterwards  found  is  the  manner  of 
these  people  at  their  meat.  The  supper  was  plain, 
but  of  exceeding  good  relish :  warm  rye  loaves 
with  butter  and  honey,  and  bowls  of  sweet  milk, 
and  roasted  apples.  Goodwife  Brewster,  who  ap 
peared  much  above  her  husband  (who  is  a  plain, 
unlearned  man)  in  her  carriage  and  discourse,  talked 


124         MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

with  us  very  pleasantly,  and  Margaret  seemed  to 
grow  more  at  ease,  the  longer  we  stayed. 

On  our  way  back  we  met  Robert  Pike,  who  hath 
returned  from  the  eastward.  He  said  Rebecca 
Rawson  had  just  told  him  how  matters  stood  with 
Leonard,  and  that  he  was  greatly  rejoiced  to  hear 
of  his  prospect.  He  had  known  Margaret  Brew- 
ster  from  a  child,  and  there  was  scarce  her  equal  in 
these  parts  for  sweetness  of  temper  and  loveliness 
of  person  and  mind ;  and,  were  she  ten  times  a 
Quaker,  he  was  free  to  say  this  in  her  behalf.  I 
am  more  and  more  confirmed  in  the  belief  that 
Leonard  hath  not  done  unwisely  in  this  matter,  and 
do  cheerfully  accept  of  his  choice,  believing  it  to 
be  in  the  ordering  of  Him  who  doeth  all  things 
well. 

BOSTON,  December  31. 

It  wanteth  but  two  hours  to  the  midnight,  and 
the  end  of  the  year.  The  family  are  all  abed,  and 
I  can  .hear  nothing  save  the  crackling  of  the  fire 
now  burning  low  on  the  hearth,  and  the  ticking  of 
the  clock  in  the  corner.  The  weather  being  sharp 
with  frost,  there  is  no  one  stirring  in  the  streets,  and 
the  trees  and  bushes  in  the  yard,  being  stripped  of 
their  leaves,  look  dismal  enough  above  the  white 
snow  with  which  the  ground  is  covered,  so  that 
one  would  think  that  all  things  must  needs  die  with 
the  year.  But,  from  my  window,  I  can  see  the  stars 
shining  with  marvellous  brightness  in  the  clear 
sky,  and  the  sight  thereof  doth  assure  me  that  God 
still  watcheth  over  the  work  of  His  hands,  and  that 
in  due  season  He  will  cause  theflowers  to  appear  on 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        125 

the  earth,  and  the  time  of  singing-birds  to  come, 
and  the  voice  of  the  turtle  to  be  heard  in  the  land. 
And  I  have  been  led,  while  alone  here,  to  think  of 
the  many  mercies  which  have  been  vouchsafed  unto 
me  in  my  travels  and  sojourn  in  a  strange  land, 
and  a  sense  of  the  wonderful  goodness  of  God  to 
wards  me,  and  they  who  are  dear  unto  me,  both 
here  and  elsewhere,  hath  filled  mine  heart  with 
thankfulness ;  and  as  of  old  time  they  did  use  to 
set  up  stones  of  memorial  on  the  banks  of  deliver 
ance,  so  would  I  at  this  season  set  up,  as  it  were, 
in  my  poor  journal,  a  like  pillar  of  thanksgiving  to 
the  praise  and  honor  of  Him  who  hath  so  kindly 
cared  for  His  unworthy  handmaid. 

January  16,  1679. 

Have  just  got  back  from  Reading,  a  small  town 
ten  or  twelve  miles  out  of  Boston,  whither  I  went 
along  with  mine  Uncle  and  Aunt  Rawson,  and 
many  others,  to  attend  the  ordination  of  Mr. 
Brock,  in  the  place  of  the  worthy  Mr.  Hough, 
lately  deceased.  The  weather  being  clear,  and  the 
travelling  good,  a  great  concourse  of  people  got 
together.  We  stopped  at  the  ordinary,  which  we 
found  welluigh  filled ;  but  uncle,  by  dint  of  scold 
ing  and  coaxing,  got  a  small  room  for  aunt  and 
myself,  with  a  clean  bed,  which  was  more  than  we 
had  reason  to  hope  for.  The  ministers,  of  whom 
there  were  many  and  of  note  (Mr.  Mather  and 
Mr.  Wilson  of  Boston,  and  Mr.  Corbet  of  Ipswich, 
being  among  them),  were  already  together  at  the 
house  of  one  of  the  deacons.  It  was  quite  a  sight 
the  next  morning  to  see  the  people  coming  in 


126        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

from  the  neighboring  towns,  and  to  note  their  odd 
dresses,  which  were  indeed  of  all  kinds,  from* silks 
and  velvets  to  coarsest  homespun  woollens,  dyed 
with  hemlock,  or  oil-nut  bark,  and  fitting  so  ill  that, 
if  they  had  all  cast  their  clothes  into  a  heap,  and 
then  each  snatched  up  whatsoever  coat  or  gown 
came  to  hand,  they  could  not  have  suited  worse. 
Yet  they  were  all  clean  and  tidy,  and  the  young 
people  especially  did  look  exceeding  happy,  it  be 
ing  with  them  a  famous  holiday.  The  young  men 
came  with  their  sisters  or  their  sweethearts  riding 
behind  them  on  pillions ;  and  the  ordinary  and  all 
the  houses  about  were  soon  noisy  enough  with 
merry  talking  and  laughter.  The  meeting-house 
was  filled  long  before  the  services  did  begin.  There 
was  a  goodly  show  of  honorable  people  in  the  for 
ward  seats,  and  among  them  that  venerable  magis 
trate,  Simon  Broadstreet,  who  acteth  as  Deputy- 
Governor  since  the  death  of  Mr.  Leverett;  the 
Honorable  Thomas  Danforth  ;  Mr.  William  Brown 
of  Salem  ;  and  others  of  note,  whose  names  I  do 
not  remember,  all  with  their  wives  and  families, 
bravely  apparelled.  The  Sermon  was  preached  by 
Mr.  Higginson  of  Salem,  the  Charge  was  given  by 
Mr.  Phillips  of  Rowley,  and  the  Right  Hand  of 
Fellowship  by  Mr.  Corbet  of  Ipswich.  When  we 
got  back  to  our  inn,  we  found  a  great  crowd  of 
young  roysterers  in  the  yard,  who  had  got  Mr.  Cor 
bet's  negro  man,  Sam,  on  the  top  of  a  barrel,  with 
a  bit  of  leather,  cut  in  the  shape  of  spectacles, 
astride  of  his  nose,  where  he  stood  swinging  his 
arms,  and  preaching,  after  the  manner  of  his  mas 
ter,  mimicking  his  tone  and  manner  very  shrewdly, 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        127 

to  the  great  delight  and  merriment  of  the  young 
rogues  who  did  set  him  on.  We  stood  in  the  door 
a  while  to  hear  him,  and,  to  say  the  truth,  he  did 
wonderfully  well,  being  a  fellow  of  good  parts  and 
much  humor.  But,  just  as  he  was  describing  the 
Devil,  and  telling  his  grinning  hearers  that  he  was 
not  like  a  black  but  a  white  man,  old  Mr.  Corbet, 
who  had  come  up  behind  him,  gave  him  a  smart 
blow  with  his  cane,  whereupon  Sam  cried,  — 

"  Dare  he  be  now !  "  at  which  all  fell  to  laughing. 

"  You  rascal,"  said  Mr.  Corbet,  "  get  down  with 
you  ;  I  '11  teach  you  to  compare  me  to  the  Devil." 

"  Beg  pardon,  massa !  "  said  Sam,  getting  down 
from  his  pulpit,  and  rubbing  his  shoulder.  u  How 
you  think  Sam  know  you  ?  He  see  nothing ;  he 
only  feel  de  lick." 

"  You  shall  feel  it  again,"  said  his  master,  strik 
ing  at  him  a  great  blow,  which  Sam  dodged. 

"  Nay,  Brother  Corbet,"  said  Mr.  Phillips,  who 
was  with  him,  "  Sam's  mistake  was  not  so  strange 
after  all ;  for  if  Satan  can  transform  himself  into 
an  Angel  of  Light,  why  not  into  the  likeness  of 
such  unworthy  ministers  as  you  and  I." 

This  put  the  old  minister  in  a  good  humor,  and 
Sam  escaped  without  farther  punishment  than  a 
grave  admonition  to  behave  more  reverently  for  the 
future.  Mr.  Phillips,  seeing  some  of  his  young 
people  in  the  crowd,  did  sharply  rebuke  them  for 
their  folly,  at  which  they  were  not  a  little  abashed. 

The  inn  being  greatly  crowded,  and  not  a  little 
noisy,  we  were  not  unwilling  to  accept  the  invita 
tion  of  the  provider  of  the  ordination-dinner,  to  sit 
down  with  the  honored  guests  thereat.  I  waited, 


128        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

with  others  of  the  younger  class,  until  the  ministers 
and  elderly  people  had  made  an  end  of  their  meal. 
Among  those  who  sat  at  the  second  table  was  a 
pert,  talkative  lad,  a  son  of  Mr.  Increase  Mather, 
who,  although  but  sixteen  years  of  age,  graduated 
at  the  Harvard  College  last  year,  and  hath  the  rep 
utation  of  good  scholarship  and  lively  wit.  He 
told  some  rare  stories  concerning  Mr.  Brock,  the 
minister  ordained,  and  of  the  marvellous  efficacy 
of  his  prayers.  He  mentioned,  among  other  things, 
that,  when  Mr.  Brock  lived  on  the  Isles  of  Shoals, 
he  persuaded  the  people  there  to  agree  to  spend 
one  day  in  a  month,  beside  the  Sabbath,  in  religious 
worship.  Now,  it  so  chanced  that  there  was  on 
one  occasion  a  long  season  of  stormy,  rough  weath 
er,  unsuitable  for  fishing ;  and  when  the  day  came 
which  had  been  set  apart,  it  proved  so  exceeding 
fair,  that  his  congregation  did  desire  him  to  put  off 
the  meeting,  that  they  might  fish.  Mr.  Brock  tried 
in  vain  to  reason  with  them,  and  show  the  duty  of 
seeking  first  the  kingdom  of  God,  when  all  other 
things  should  be  added  thereto,  but  the  major  part 
determined  to  leave  the  meeting.  Thereupon  he 
cried  out  after  them :  "As  for  you  who  will  neglect 
God's  worship,  go,  and  catch  fish  if  you  can" 
There  were  thirty  men  who  thus  left,  and  only  five 
remained  behind,  and  to  these  he  said:  "  I  will 
pray  the  Lord  for  you,  that  you  may  catch  fish  till 
you  are  weary."  And  it  so  fell  out,  that  the 
thirty  toiled  all  day,  and  caught  only  four  fishes ; 
while  the  five  who  stayed  at  meeting  went  out, 
after  the  worship  was  over,  and  caught  five  hun 
dred  ;  and  ever  afterwards  the  fishermen  attended 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        129 

all  the  meetings  of  the  minister's  appointing.  At 
another  time,  a  poor  man,  who  had  made  himself 
useful  in  carrying  people  to  meeting  in  his  boat, 
lost  the  same  in  a  storm,  and  came  lamenting  his 
loss  to  Mr.  Brock.  "  Go  home,  honest  man," 
said  the  minister.  "  I  will  mention  your  case  to 
the  Lord :  you  will  have  your  boat  again  to-mor 
row."  And  surely  enough,  the  very  next  day,  a 
vessel  pulling  up  its  anchor  near  where  the  boat 
sank,  drew  up  the  poor  man's  boat,  safe  and  whole, 
after  it. 

We  went  back  to  Boston  after  dinner,  but  it  was 
somewhat  of  a  cold  ride,  especially  after  the  night 
set  in,  a  keen  northerly  wind  blowing  in  great 
gusts,  which  did  wellnigh  benumb  us.  A  little 
way  from  Heading,  we  overtook  an  old  couple  in 
the  road ;  the  man  had  fallen  off  his  horse,  and  his 
wife  was  trying  to  get  him  up  again  to  no  purpose ; 
so  young  Mr.  Richards,  who  was  with  us,  helped 
him  up  to  the  saddle  again,  telling  his  wife  to  hold 
him  carefully,  as  her  old  man  had  drank  too  much 
flip.  Thereupon  the  good  wife  set  upon  him  with  a 
vile  tongue,  telling  him  that  her  old  man  was  none 
other  than  Deacon  Rogers  of  Wenham,  and  as  good 
and  as  pious  a  saint  as  there  was  out  of  heaven ; 
and  it  did  ill  become  a  young,  saucy  rake  and 
knave  to  accuse  him  of  drunkenness,  and  it  would 
be  no  more  than  his  deserts  if  the  bears  did  eat 
him  before  he  got  to  Boston.  As  it  was  quite  clear 
that  the  woman  herself  had  had  a  taste  of  the  mug, 
we  left  them  and  rode  on,  she  fairly  scolding  us 
out  of  hearing.  When  we  got  home,  we  found 
Cousin  Rebecca,  whom  we  did  leave  ill  with  a 


130        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

cold,  much  better  in  health,  sitting  up  and  await 
ing  us. 

January  21,  1679. 

Uncle  Kawson  came  home  to-day  in  a  great  pas 
sion,  and,  calling  me  to  him,  he  asked  me  if  I  too 
was  going  to  turn  Quaker,  and  fall  to  prophesying  ? 
Whereat  I  was  not  a  little  amazed ;  and  when  I 
asked  him  what  he  did  mean,  he  said :  "  Your 
brother  Leonard  hath  gone  off  to  them,  and  I  dare 
say  you  will  follow,  if  one  of  the  ranters  should 
take  it  into  his  head  that  you  would  make  him  a 
proper  wife,  or  company-keeper,  for  there 's  never 
an  honest  marriage  among  them."  Then  looking 
sternly  at  me,  he  asked  me  why  I  did  keep  this* 
matter  from  him,  and  thus  allow  the  foolish  young 
man  to  get  entangled  in  the  snares  of  Satan. 
Whereat  I  was  so  greatly  grieved,  that  I  could 
answer  never  a  word. 

"  You  may  well  weep,"  said  my  uncle,  "  for  you 
have  done  wickedly.  As  to  your  brother,  he  will 
do  well  to  keep  where  he  is  in  the  plantations  ;  for 
if  he  come  hither  a  theeing  and  thouing  of  me,  I 
will  spare  him  never  a  whit ;  and  if  I  do  not  chas 
tise  him  myself,  it  will  be  because  the  constable 
can  do  it  better  at  the  cart-tail.  As  the  Lord  lives, 
I  had  rather  he  had  turned  Turk !  " 

I  tried  to  say  a  word  for  my  brother,  but  he  cut 
me  straightway  short,  bidding  me  not  to  mention 
his  name  again  in  his  presence.  Poor  me  !  I  have 
none  here  now  to  whom  I  can  speak  freely,  Re 
becca  having  gone  to  her  sister's  at  Weymouth.  My 
young  cousin  Grindall  is  below,  with  his  college 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        131 

friend,  Cotton  Mather  ;  but  I  care  not  to  listen 
to  their  discourse,  and  aunt  is  busied  with  her 
servants  in  the  kitchen,  so  that  I  must  even  sit 
alone  with  my  thoughts,  which  be  indeed  but  sad 
company. 

The  little  book  which  I   brought  with  me  from 

O 

the  Maine,  it  being  the  gift  of  young  Mr.  Jordan, 
and  which  I  have  kept  close  hidden  in  my  trunk, 
hath  been  no  small  consolation  to  me  this  day,  for 
it  aboundeth  in  sweet  and  goodly  thoughts,  al 
though  he  who  did  write  it  was  a  monk.  Espe 
cially  in  my  low  state,  have  these  words  been  a 
comfort  to  me  :  — 

"  What  thou  canst  not  amend  in  thyself  or  others, 
bear  thou  with  patience  until  God  ordaineth  other 
wise.  When  comfort  is  taken  away,  do  not  pre 
sently  despair.  Stand  with  an  even  mind  resigned 
to  the  will  of  God,  whatever  shall  befall,  because 
after  winter  cometh  the  summer ;  after  the  dark 
night  the  day  shineth,  and  after  the  storm  follow- 
eth  a  great  calm.  Seek  not  for  consolation  which 
shall  rob  thee  of  the  grace  of  penitence ;  for  all 
that  is  high  is  not  holy,  nor  all  that  is  pleasant 
good  ;  nor  every  desire  pure ;  nor  is  what  is  pleas 
ing  to  us  always  pleasant  in  the  sight  of  God." 

January  23. 

The  weather  is  bitter  cold,  and  a  great  snow  on 
the  ground.  By  a  letter  from  Newbury,  brought 
me  by  Mr.  Sewall,  who  hath  just  returned  from 
that  place,  I  hear  that  Goodwife  Morse  hath  been 
bound  for  trial  as  a  witch.  Mr.  Sewall  tells  me 
the  woman  is  now  in  the  Boston  jail.  As  to  Caleb 


132        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

Powell,  he  hath  been  set  at  liberty,  there  being  no 
proof  of  his  evil  practice.  Yet  inasmuch  as  he  did 
give  grounds  of  suspicion  by  boasting  of  his  skill 
in  astrology  and  astronomy,  the  Court  declared 
that  he  justly  deserves  to  bear  his  own  shame  and 
the  costs  of  his  prosecution  and  lodging  in  jail. 

Mr.  Sewall  tells  me  .that  Deacon  Dole  has  just 
married  his  housekeeper,  Widow  Barnet,  and  that 
Moses  says  he  never  knew  before  his  father  to  get 
the  worst  in  a  bargain. 

January  30. 

Robert  Pike  called  this  morning,  bringing  me  a 
letter  from  my  brother,  and  one  from  Margaret 
Brewster.  He  hath  been  to  the  Providence  Plan 
tations  and  Rhode  Island,  and  reporteth  well  of 
the  prospects  of  my  brother,  who  hath  a  goodly 
farm,  and  a  house  nigh  upon  finished,  the  neigh 
bors,  being  mostly  Quakers,  assisting  him  much 
therein.  My  brother's  letter  doth  confirm  this  ac 
count  of  his  temporal  condition,  although  a  great 
part  of  it  is  taken  up  with  a  defence  of  his  new 
doctrines,  for  the  which  he  doth  ingeniously  bring 
to  mind  many  passages  of  Scripture.  Margaret's 
letter  being  short,  I  here  copy  it :  — 

THE  PLANTATIONS,  2(M  of  the  1st  mo.,  1679. 
"  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  salute  thee  with  much  love 
from  this  new  country,  where  the  Lord  hath  spread 
a  table  for  us  in  the  wilderness.  Here  is  a  goodly 
company  of  Friends,  who  do  seek  to  know  the  mind 
of  Truth,  and  to  live  thereby,  being  held  in  favor  and 
esteem  by  the  rulers  of  the  land,  and  so  left  in  peace 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        133 

to  worship  God  according  to  their  consciences.  The 
whole  country  being  covered  with  snow,  and  the  wea 
ther  being  extreme  cold,  we  can  scarce  say  much  of  the 
natural  gifts  and  advantages  of  our  new  home  ;  but  it 
lieth  on  a  small  river,  and  there  be  fertile  meadows,  and 
old  corn-fields  of  the  Indians,  and  good  springs  of  water, 
so  that  I  am  told  it  is  a  desirable  and  pleasing  place  in 
the  warm  season.  My  soul  is  full  of  thankfulness,  and 
a  sweet  inward  peace  is  my  portion.  Hard  things  are 
made  easy  to  me  ;  this  desert  place,  with  its  lonely 
woods  and  wintry  snows,  is  beautiful  in  mine  eyes.  For 
here  we  be  no  longer  gazing-stocks  of  the  rude  multi 
tude,  we  are  no  longer  haled  from  our  meetings,  and 
railed  upon  as  witches  and  possessed  people.  Oh,  how 
often  have  we  been  called  upon  heretofore  to  repeat  the 
prayer  of  one  formerly  :  '  Let  me  not  fall  into  the 
hntids  of  man'  Sweet,  beyond  the  power  of  words  to 
express,  hath  been  the  change  in  this  respect ;  and  in 
view  of  the  mercies  vouchsafed  unto  us,  what  can  we  do 
but  repeat  the  language  of  David,  '  Praise  is  comely ; 
yea,  a  joyful  and  pleasant  thing  it  is  to  be  thankful. 
It  is  a  good  thing  to  give  thanks  unto  the  Lord,  to 
sing  praises  unto  thy  name,  0  Most  High !  to  show 
forth  thy  loving-kindness  in  the  morning,  and  thy 
faithfulness  every  night.' 

"  Thou  hast  doubtless  heard  that  thy  dear  brother 
hath  been  favored  to  see  the  way  of  truth,  according  to 
our  persuasion  thereof,  and  hath  been  received  into 
fellowship  with  us.  I  fear  this  hath  been  a  trial  to 
thee  ;  but,  dear  heart,  leave  it  in  the  hands  of  the  Lord, 
whose  work  I  do  indeed  count  it.  Nor  needest  thou  to 
fear  that  thy  brother's  regard  for  thee  will  be  lessened 
thereby,  for  the  rather  shall  it  be  increased  bv  a  mea 
sure  of  that  Divine  love  which,  so  far  from  destroying, 
doth  but  purify  and  strengthen  the  natural  affections. 


134        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

Think,  then,  kindly  of  thy  brother,  for  his  love  towards 
thee  is  very  great ;  and  of  me,  also,  unworthy  as  I  am, 
for  his  sake.  And  so,  with  salutations  of  love  and 
peace,  in  which  my  dear  mother  joins,  I  remain  thy  lov 
ing  friend,  MARGARET  BREWSTER. 

"  The  Morse  woman,  I  hear,  is  in  your  jail,  to  be 
tried  for  a  witch.  She  is  a  poor,  weak  creature,  but  I 
know  no  harm  of  her,  and  do  believe  her  to  be  more 
silly  than  wicked  in  the  matter  of  the  troubles  in  her 
house.  I  fear  she  will  suffer  much  at  this  cold  sea 
son  in  the  jail,  she  being  old  and  weakly,  and  must 
needs  entreat  thee  to  inquire  into  her  condition. 

M.  B." 

February  10. 

Speaking  of  Goody  Morse  to-day,  Uncle  Rawson 
says  she  will,  he  thinks,  be  adjudged  a  witch,  as 
there  be  many  witnesses  from  Newbury  to  testify 
against  her.  Aunt  sent  the  old  creature  some 
warm  blankets  and  other  necessaries,  which  she 
stood  much  in  need  of,  and  Rebecca  and  I  altered 
one  of  aunt's  old  gowns  for  her  to  wear,  as  she 
hath  nothing  seemly  of  her  own.  Mr.  Richardson, 
her  minister,  hath  visited  her  twice  since  she  hath 
been  in  jail ;  but  he  saith  she  is  hardened  in  her 
sin,  and  will  confess  nothing  thereof. 

February  14. 

The  famous  Mr.  John  Eliot,  having  business 
with  my  uncle,  spent  the  last  night  with  us,  a  truly 
worthy  man,  who,  by  reason  of  his  great  labors 
among  the  heathen  Indians,  may  be  called  the 
chiefest  of  our  apostles.  He  brought  with  him  a 
young  Indian  lad,  the  son  of  a  man  of  some  note 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        135 

among  his  people,  very  bright  and  comely,  and 
handsomely  apparelled  after  the  fashion  of  his 
tribe.  This  lad  hath  a  ready  wit,  readeth  and 
writeth,  and  hath  some  understanding  of  Scrip 
ture  ;  indeed,  he  did  repeat  the  Lord's  Prayer  in  a 
manner  edifying  to  hear. 

The  worshipful  Major  Gookins  coming  in  to  sup 
with  us,  there  was  much  discourse  concerning  the 
affairs  of  the  Province :  both  the  Major  and  his 
friend  Eliot  being  great  sticklers  for  the  rights  and 
liberties  of  the  people,  and  exceeding  jealous  of  the 
rule  of  the  home  government,  and  in  this  matter 
my  uncle  did  quite  agree  with  them.  In  a  special 
manner  Major  Gookins  did  complain  of  the  Acts 
of  Trade,  as  injurious  to  the  interests  of  the  Col 
ony,  and  which  he  said  ought  not  to  be  submitted 
to,  as  the  laws  of  England  were  bounded  by  the 
four  seas,  and  did  not  justly  reach  America.  He 
read  a  letter  which  he  had  from  Mr.  Stoughton, 
one  of  the  agents  of  the  Colony  in  England,  show 
ing  how  they  had  been  put  off  from  time  to  time, 
upon  one  excuse  or  another,  without  being  able  to 
get  a  hearing ;  and  now  the  Popish  Plot  did  so  oc 
cupy  all  minds  there,  that  Plantation  matters  were 
sadly  neglected  ;  but  this  much  was  certain,  the 
laws  for  the  regulating  of  trade  must  be  consented 
to  by  the  Massachusetts,  if  \ve  would  escape  a  total 
breach.  My  uncle  struck  his  hand  hard  on  the 
table  at  this,  and  said  if  all  were  of  his  mind  they 
would  never  heed  the  breach ;  adding,  that  he 
knew  his  rights  as  a  free-born  Englishman,  under 
Magua  Charta,  which  did  declare  it  the  privilege 
of  such  to  have  a  voice  in  the  making  of  laws ; 


136         MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

whereas  the  Massachusetts  had  no  voice  in  Parlia 
ment,  and  laws  were  thrust  upon  them  by  strangers. 

"  For  mine  own  part,"  said  Major  Gookins,  "  I 
do  hold  our  brother  Eliot's  book  on  the  Christian 
Commonwealth,  which  the  General  Court  did  make 
haste  to  condemn  on  the  coming  in  of  the  king, 
to  be  a  sound  and  seasonable  treatise,  notwith 
standing  the  author  himself  hath  in  some  sort 
disowned  it." 

"  I  did  truly  condemn  and  deny  the  false  and 
seditious  doctrines  charged  upon  it,"  said  Mr.  Eliot, 
"  but  for  the  book  itself,  rightly  taken,  and  making 
allowance  for  some  little  heat  of  discourse  and  cer 
tain  hasty  and  ill-considered  words  therein,  I  have 
never  seen  cause  to  repent.  I  quite  agree  with 
what  my  lamented  friend  and  fellow-laborer,  Mr. 
Danforth,  said,  when  he  was  told  that  the  king  was 
to  be  proclaimed  at  Boston :  4  Whatever  form  of 
government  may  be  deduced  from  Scripture,  that 
let  us  yield  to  for  conscience'  sake,  not  forgetting 
at  the  same  time  that  the  Apostle  hath  said,  if  thou 
mayest  be  free  use  it  rather.'  ' 

My  uncle  said  this  was  well  spoken  of  Mr.  Dan 
forth,  who  was  a  worthy  gentleman  and  a  true 
friend  to  the  liberties  of  the  Colony  ;  and  he  asked 
Rebecca  to  read  some  ingenious  verses  writ  by  him 
in  one  of  his  almanacs,  which  she  had  copied  not 
long  ago,  wherein  he  compare th  New  England  to  a 
goodly  tree  or  plant.  Whereupon,  Rebecca  read 
them  as  followeth  :  — 

"  A  skilful  husbandman  he  was,  who  brought 

This  matchless  plant  from  far,  and  here  hath  sought 

A  place  to  set  it  in  ;  and  for  its  sake 

The  wilderness  a  pleasant  land  doth  make. 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        137 

With  pleasant  aspect,  Phoebus  smiles  upon 

The  tender  buds  and  blooms  that  hang  thereon  ; 

At  this  tree's  root  Astrea  sits  and  sings, 

And  waters  it,  whence  upright  Justice  springs, 

"\Vhich  yearly  shoots  forth  laws  and  liberties 

That  no  man's  will  or  wit  may  tyrannize. 

Those  birds  of  prey  that  sometime  have  oppressed 

And  stained  the  country  with  their  filthy  nest, 

Justice  abhors,  and  one  day  hopes  to  find 

A  way  to  make  all  promise-breakers  grind. 

On  this  tree's  top  hangs  pleasant  Liberty, 

Not  seen  in  Austria,  France,  Spain,  Italy. 

True  Liberty  's  there  ripe,  where  all  confess 

They  may  do  what  they  will,  save  wickedness. 

Peace  is  another  fruit  which  this  tree  bears, 

The  chief  est  garland  that  the  country  wears, 

Which  o'er  all  house-tops,  towns,  and  fields  doth  spread, 

And  stuffs  the  pillow  for  each  weary  head. 

It  bloomed  in  Europe  once,  but  now  't  is  gone, 

And  glad  to  find  a  desert  mansion. 

Forsaken  Truth,  Time's  daughter,  groweth  here,  — 

More  precious  fruit  what  tree  did  ever  bear,  — 

Whose  pleasant  sight  aloft  hath  many  fed, 

And  what  falls  down  knocks  Error  on  the  head." 

After  a  little  time,  Rebecca  found  means  to 
draw  the  good  Mr.  Eliot  into  some  account  of  his 
labors  and  journeys  among  the  Indians,  and  of  their 
manner  of  life,  ceremonies,  and  traditions,  telling 
him  that  I  was  a  stranger  in  these  parts,  and  curi 
ous  concerning  such  matters.  So  he  did  address 
himself  to  me  very  kindly,  answering  such  questions 
as  I  ventured  to  put  to  him.  And  first,  touching 
the  Powahs,  of  whom  I  had  heard  much,  he  said 
they  were  manifestly  witches,  and  such  as  had  fa 
miliar  spirits  ;  but  that,  since  the  Gospel  has  been 
preached  here,  their  power  had  in  a  great  measure 
gone  from  them.  "  My  old  friend,  Passaconaway, 
the  Chief  of  the  Merrimac  River  Indians,"  said  he, 


138         MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

"  was,  before  his  happy  and  marvellous  conversion, 
a  noted  Powah  and  wizard.  I  once  queried  with 
him  touching  his  sorceries,  when  he  said  he  had 
done  wickedly,  and  it  was  a  marvel  that  the  Lord 
spared  his  life,  and  did  not  strike  him  dead  with 
his  lightnings.  And  when  I  did  press  him  to 
tell  me  how  he  did  become  a  Powah,  he  said  he 
liked  not  to  speak  of  it,  but  would  nevertheless  tell 
me.  His  grandmother  used  to  tell  him  many 
things  concerning  the  good  and  bad  spirits,  and  in 
a  special  manner  of  the  Abomako,  or  Chepian,  who 
had  the  form  of  a  serpent,  and  who  was  the  cause 
of  sickness  and  pain,  and  of  all  manner  of  evils. 
And  it  so  chanced  that  on  one  occasion,  when 
hunting  in  the  wilderness,  three  days'  journey  from 
home,  he  did  lose  his  way,  and  wandered  for  a 
long  time  without  food,  and  night  coming  on,  he 
thought  he  did  hear  voices  of  men  talking ;  but, 
on  drawing  near  to  the  place  whence  the  noise 
came,  he  could  see  nothing  but  the  trees  and 
rocks  ;  and  then  he  did  see  a  light,  as  from  a  wig 
wam  a  little  way  off,  but,  going  towards  it,  it 
moved  away,  and,  following  it,  he  was  led  into  a 
dismal  swamp,  full  of  water,  and  snakes,  and 
briers ;  and  being  in  so  sad  a  plight,  he  bethought 
him  of  all  he  had  heard  of  evil  demons  and  of 
Chepian,  who,  he  doubted  not  was  the  cause  of  his 
trouble.  At  last,  coming  to  a  little  knoll  in  the 
swamp,  he  lay  down  under  a  hemlock-tree,  and 
being  sorely  tired,  fell  asleep.  And  he  dreamed  a 
dream,  which  was  in  this  wise  :  — 

"  He  thought  he  beheld  a  great  snake  crawl  up 
out  of  the  marsh,  and  stand  upon  his  tail  under  a 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        139 

tall  maple-tree  ;  and  he  thought  the  snake  spake  to 
him,  and  bade  him  be  of  good  cheer,  for  he  would 
guide  him  safe  out  of  the  swamp,  and  make  of  him 
a  great  chief  and  Powah,  if  he  would  pray  to  him 
and  own  him  as  his  god.  All  which  he  did  pro 
mise  to  do ;  and  when  he  awoke  in  the  morning, 
he  beheld  before  him  the  maple-tree  under  which  he 
had  seen  the  snake  in  his  dream,  and,  climbing  to 
the  top  of  it,  he  saw  a  great  distance  off  the  smoke 
of  a  wigwam,  towards  which  he  went,  and  found 
some  of  his  own  people  cooking  a  plentiful  meal  of 
venison.  When  he  got  back  to  Patucket,  he  told 
his  dream  to  his  grandmother,  who  was  greatly  re 
joiced,  and  went  about  from  wigwam  to  wigwam, 
telling  the  tribe  that  Chepian  had  appeared  to  her 
grandson.  So  they  had  a  great  feast  and  dance, 
and  he  was  thenceforth  looked  upon  as  a  Powah. 
Shortly  after,  a  woman  of  the  tribe  falling  sick,  he 
was  sent  for  to  heal  her,  which  he  did  by  praying 
to  Chepian  and  laying  his  hands  upon  her ;  and 
at  divers  other  times  the  Devil  helped  him  in  his 
enchantments  and  witcheries." 

I  asked  Mr.  Eliot  whether  he  did  know  of  any 
women  who  were  Powahs.  He  confessed  he  knew 
none ;  which  was  the  more  strange,  as  in  Christian 
countries  the  Old  Serpent  did  commonly  find  in 
struments  of  his  craft  among  the  women. 

To  my  query  as  to  what  notion  the  heathen  had 
of  God  and  a  future  state,  he  said  that,  when  he 
did  discourse  them  concerning  the  great  and  true 
God,  who  made  all  things,  and  of  heaven  and  hell, 
they  would  readily  consent  thereto,  saying  that  so 
their  fathers  had  taught  them  ;  but  when  he  spake 


140        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

to  them  of  the  destruction  of  the  world  by  fire,  and 
the  resurrection  of  the  body,  they  would  not  hear 
to  it,  for  they  pretend  to  hold  that  the  spirit  of  the 
dead  man  goes  forthwith,  after  death,  to  the  happy 
hunting-grounds  made  for  good  Indians,  or  to  the 
cold  and  dreary  swamps  and  mountains,  where  the 
bad  Indians  do  starve  and  freeze,  and  suffer  all 
manner  of  hardships. 

There  was,  Mr.  Eliot  told  us,  a  famous  Powah, 
who,  coming  to  Punkapog,  while  he  was  at  that  In 
dian  town,  gave  out  among  the  people  there  that  a 
little  humming-bird  did  come  to  him  and  peck  at 
him  when  he  did  aught  that  was  wrong,  and  sing 
sweetly  to  him  when  he  did  a  good  thing,  or  spake 
the  right  words  ;  which  coming  to  Mr.  Eliot's  ear, 
he  made  him  confess,  in  the  presence  of  the  con 
gregation,  that  he  did  only  mean,  by  the  figure  of 
the  bird,  the  sense  he  had  of  right  and  wrong  in 
his  own  mind.  This  fellow  was,  moreover,  exceed 
ing  cunning,  and  did  often  ask  questions  hard  to 
be  answered  touching  the  creation  of  the  Devil, 
and  the  fall  of  man. 

I  said  to  him  that  I  thought  it  must  be  a  great 
satisfaction  to  him  to  be  permitted  to  witness  the 
fruit  of  his  long  labors  and  sufferings  in  behalf  of 
these  people,  in  the  hopeful  conversion  of  so  many 
of  them  to  the  light  and  knowledge  of  the  Gospel ; 
to  which  he  replied  that  his  poor  labors  had  been 
indeed  greatly  blest,  but  it  was  all  of  the  Lord's 
doing,  and  he  could  truly  say  he  felt,  in  view  of 
the  great  wants  of  these  wild  people,  and  their 
darkness  and  misery,  that  he  had  by  no  means 
done  all  his  duty  towards  them.  He  said  also, 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        141 

that  whenever  he  was  in  danger  of  being  puffed  up 
with  the  praise  of  men,  or  the  vanity  of  his  own 
heart,  the  Lord  had  seen  meet  to  abase  and  hum 
ble  him,  by  the  falling  back  of  some  of  his  people 
to  their  old  heathenish  practices.  The  war,  more 
over,  was  a  sore  evil  to  the  Indian  churches,  as 
some  few  of  their  number  were  enticed  by  Philip 
to  join  him  in  his  burnings  and  slaughterings,  and 
this  did  cause  even  the  peaceful  and  innocent  to 
be  vehemently  suspected  and  cried  out  against  as 
deceivers  and  murderers.  Poor,  unoffending  old 
men,  and  pious  women,  had  been  shot  at  and  killed 
by  our  soldiers,  their  wigwams  burned,  their  fami 
lies  scattered,  and  driven  to  seek  shelter  with  the 
enemy ;  yea,  many  Christian  Indians,  he  did  be 
lieve,  had  been  sold  as  slaves  to  the  Barbadoes, 
which  he  did  account  a  great  sin,  and  a  reproach 
to  our  people.  Major  Gookins  said  that  a  better 
feeling  towards  the  Indians  did  now  prevail  among 
the  people ;  the  time  having  been  when,  because 
of  his  friendliness  to  them,  and  his  condemnation 
of  their  oppressors,  he  was  cried  out  against  and 
stoned  in  the  streets,  to  the  great  hazard  of  his 
life. 

So,  after  some  further  discourse,  our  guests  left 
us,  Mr.  Eliot  kindly  inviting  me  to  visit  his  Indian 
congregation  near  Boston,  whereby  I  could  judge 
for  myself  of  their  condition. 

February  22,  1679. 

The  weather  suddenly  changing  from  a  warm 
rain  and  mist  to  sharp,  clear  cold,  the  trees  a  little 
way  from  the  house  did  last  evening  so  shine  with 


142        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

a  wonderful  brightness  in  the  light  of  the  moon, 
now  nigh  unto  its  full,  that  I  was  fain  to  go  out 
upon  the  hill-top  to  admire  them.  And  truly  it 
was  no  mean  sight  to  behold  every  small  twig  be- 
crusted  with  ice,  and  glittering  famously  like  sil 
ver-work  or  crystal,  as  the  rays  of  the  moon  did 
strike  upon  them.  Moreover,  the  earth  was  cov 
ered  with  frozen  snow,  smooth  and  hard  like  to 
marble,  through  which  the  long  rushes,  the  hazels, 
and  mulleins,  and  the  dry  blades  of  the  grasses, 
did  stand  up  bravely,  bedight  with  frost.  And, 
looking  upward,  there  were  the  dark  tops  of  the 
evergreen  trees,  such  as  hemlocks,  pines,  and 
spruces,  starred  and  bespangled,  as  if  wetted  with 
a  great  rain  of  molten  crystal.  After  admiring 
and  marvelling  at  this  rare  entertainment  and  show 
of  Nature,  I  said  it  did  mind  me  of  what  the  Span 
iards  and  Portuguese  relate  of  the  great  Incas  of 
Guiana,  who  had  a  garden  of  pleasure  in  the  Isle 
of  Puna,  whither  they  were  wont  to  betake  them 
selves  when  they  would  enjoy  the  air  of  the  sea,  in 
which  they  had  all  manner  of  herbs  and  flowers, 
and  trees  curiously  fashioned  of  gold  and  silver, 
and  so  burnished  that  their  exceeding  brightness 
did  dazzle  the  eyes  of  the  beholders. 

"Nay,"  said  the  worthy  Mr.  Mather,  who  did  go 
with  us,  "  it  should  rather,  methinks,  call  to  mind 
what  the  Revelator  hath  said  of  the  Holy  City.  I 
never  look  upon  such  a  wonderful  display  of  the 
natural  world  without  remembering  the  description 
of  the  glory  of  that  city  which  descended  out  of 
heaven  from  God,  having  the  glory  of  God,  and 
her  light  like  unto  a  stone  most  precious,  even  like 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        143 

unto  a  jasper  stone.,  clear  as  crystal.  And  the 
building  of  the  wall  of  it  was  of  jasper,  and  the 
city  was  pure  gold  like  unto  clear  glass.  And 
the  twelve  gates  were  twelve  pearls,  every  several 
gate  was  of  one  pearl,  and  the  street  of  the  city 
was  pure  gold,  as  it  were  transparent  glass. 

"  There  never  was  a  king's  palace  lighted  up  and 
adorned  like  this,"  continued  Mr.  Mather,  as  we 
went  homewards.  "  It  seemeth  to  be  God's  design 
to  show  how  that  He  can  glorify  himself  in  the 
work  of  His  hands,  even  at  this  season  of  darkness 
and  death,  when  all  things  are  sealed  up,  and  there 
be  no  flowers,  nor  leaves,  nor  running  brooks,  to 
speak  of  His  goodness  and  sing  forth  His  praises. 
Truly  hath  it  been  said,  Great  things  doeth  He, 
which  we  cannot  comprehend.  For  He  saith  to 
the  snow,  Be  thou  on  the  earth ;  likewise  to  the 
small  rain  and  the  great  rain  of  His  strength. 
He  sealeth  up  the  hand  of  every  man,  that  all 
men  may  know  His  work.  Then  the  beasts  go 
into  their  dens,  and  they  remain  in  their  places. 
Out  of  the  south  cometh  the  whirlwind,  and 
cold  out  of  the  north.  By  the  breath  of  God 
is  the  frost  given,  and  the  breadth  of  the  waters 
straitened." 

March  10. 

I  have  been  now  for  many  days  afflicted  with  a 
great  cold  and  pleurisy,  although,  by  God's  bless 
ing  on  the  means  used,  I  am  wellnigh  free  from 
pain,  and  much  relieved,  also,  from  a  tedious 
cough.  In  this  sickness  I  have  not  missed  the 
company  and  kind  ministering  of  my  dear  Cousin 


144        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

Rebecca,  which  was  indeed  a  great  comfort.  She 
tells  me  to-day  that  the  time  hath  been  fixed  upon 
for  her  marriage  with  Sir  Thomas,  which  did  not  a 
little  rejoice  me,  as  I  am  to  go  back  to  mine  own 
country  in  their  company.  I  long  exceedingly  to 
see  once  again  the  dear  friends  from  whom  I  have 
been  separated  by  many  months  of  time  and  a  great 
ocean. 

Cousin  Torrey,  of  Wey mouth,  coming  in  yester 
day,  brought  with  her  a  very  bright  and  pretty  In 
dian  girl,  one  of  Mr.  Eliot's  flock,  of  the  Natick 
people.  She  was  apparelled  after  the  English  man 
ner,  save  that  she  wore  leggings,  called  moccasins, 
in  the  stead  of  shoes,  wrought  over  daintily  with 
the  quills  of  an  animal  called  a  porcupine,  and 
hung  about  with  small  black  and  white  shells. 
Her  hair,  which  was  exceeding  long  and  black, 
hung  straight  down  her  back,  and  was  parted  from 
her  forehead,  and  held  fast  by  means  of  a  strip  of 
birch  bark,  wrought  with  quills  and  feathers,  which 
did  encircle  her  head.  She  speaks  the  English 
well,  and  can  write  somewhat,  as  well  as  read. 
Rebecca,  for  my  amusement,  did  query  much  with 
her  regarding  the  praying  Indians  ;  and  on  her  de 
siring  to  know  whether  they  did  in  no  wise  return 
to  their  old  practices  and  worships,  Wauwoone- 
meen  (for  so  she  was  called  by  her  people)  told  us 
that  they  did  still  hold  their  Keutikaw,  or  Dance 
for  the  Dead  ;  and  that  the  ministers,  although 
they  did  not  fail  to  discourage  it,  had  not  forbidden 
it  altogether,  inasmuch  as  it  was  but  a  civil  custom 
of  the  people,  and  not  a  religious  rite.  This  dance 
did  usually  take  place  at  the  end  of  twelve  moons 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        145 

after  the  death  of  one  of  their  number,  and  finished 
the  mourning.  The  guests  invited  bring  presents 
to  the  bereaved  family,  of  wampum,  beaver-skins, 
corn,  and  ground-nuts,  and  venison.  These  pres 
ents  are  delivered  to  a  speaker,  appointed  for  the 
purpose,  who  takes  them,  one  by  one,  and  hands 
them  over  to  the  mourners,  with  a  speech  entreat 
ing  them  to  be  consoled  by  these  tokens  of  the 
love  of  their  neighbors,  and  to  forget  their  sorrows. 
After  which,  they  sit  down  to  eat,  and  are  merry 
together. 

Now  it  had  so  chanced  that  at  a  Keutikaw  held 
the  present  winter,  two  men  had  been  taken  ill,  and 
had  died  the  next  day;  and  although  Mr.  Eliot, 
when  he  was  told  of  it,  laid  the  blame  thereof  upon 
their  hard  dancing  until  they  were  in  a  great  heat, 
and  then  running  out  into  the  snow  and  sharp  air 
to  cool  themselves,  it  was  thought  by  many  that 
they  were  foully  dealt  with  and  poisoned.  So  two 
noted  old  Powahs  from  Wauhktukook,  on  the  great 
river  Connecticut,  were  sent  for  to  discover  the 
murderers.  Then  these  poor  heathen  got  together 
in  a  great  wigwam,  where  the  old  wizards  under 
took,  by  their  spells  and  incantations,  to  consult 
the  invisible  powers  in  the  matter.  I  asked  Wau- 
woonemeen  if  she  knew  how  they  did  practise  on 
the  occasion ;  whereupon  she  said  that  none  but 
men  were  allowed  to  be  in  the  wigwam,  but  that 
she  could  hear  the  beating  of  sticks  on  the  ground, 
and  the  groans  and  howlings  and  dismal  mutter- 
ings  of  the  Powahs,  and  that  she.  with  another 
young  woman,  venturing  to  peep  through  a  hole  in 
the  back  of  the  wigwam,  saw  a  great  many  people 


146         MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

sitting  on  the  ground,  and  the  two  Powahs  before 
the  fire,  jumping  and  smiting  their  breasts,  and  roll 
ing  their  eyes  very  frightfully. 

"  But  what  came  of  it?  "  asked  Rebecca.  "  Did 
the  Evil  Spirit  whom  they  thus  called  upon  testify 
against  himself,  by  telling  who  were  his  instruments 
in  mischief  ?  " 

The  girl  said  she  had  never  heard  of  any  discov 
ery  of  the  poisoners,  if  indeed  there  were  such. 
She  told  us,  moreover,  that  many  of  the  best  people 
in  the  tribe  would  have  no  part  in  the  business, 
counting  it  sinful ;  and  that  the  chief  actors  were 
much  censured  by  the  ministers,  and  so  ashamed 
of  it  that  they  drove  the  Powahs  out  of  the  village, 
the  women  and  boys  chasing  them  and  beating 
them  with  sticks  and  frozen  snow,  so  that  they  had 
to  take  to  the  woods  in  a  sorry  plight. 

We  gave  the  girl  some  small  trinkets,  and  a  fair 
piece  of  cloth  for  an  apron,  whereat  she  was  great 
ly  pleased.  We  were  all  charmed  with  her  good 
parts,  sweetness  of  countenance,  and  discourse  and 
ready  wit,  being  satisfied  thereby  that  Nature  know- 
eth  no  difference  between  Europe  and  America  in 
blood,  birth,  and  bodies,  as  we  read  in  Acts  17  that 
God  hath  made  of  one  blood  all  mankind.  I  was 
specially  minded  of  a  saying  of  that  ingenious  but 
schismatic  man,  Mr.  Roger  Williams,  m  the  little 
book  which  he  put  forth  in  England  on  the  Indian 
tongue :  — 

"  Boast  not,  proud  English,  of  thy  birth  and  blood, 
Thy  brother  Indian  is  by  birth  as  good ; 
Of  one  blood  God  made  him  and  thee  and  all, 
As  wise,  as  fair,  as  strong,  as  personal. 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        147 

By  nature  wrath  's  his  portion,  thine,  no  more, 
Till  grace  his  soul  and  thine  in  Christ  restore. 
Make  sure  thy  second  birth,  else  thou  shalt  see 
Heaven  ope  to  Indians  wild,  but  shut  to  thee  !  " 

March  15. 

One  Master  O'Shane,  an  Irish  scholar,  of  whom 
my  cousins  here  did  learn  the  Latin  tongue,  com 
ing  in  last  evening,  and  finding  Rebecca  and  I 
alone  (uncle  and  aunt  being  on  a  visit  to  Mr.  At 
kinson's),  was  exceeding  merry,  entertaining  us 
rarely  with  his  stories  and  songs.  Rebecca  tells 
me  he  is  a  learned  man,  as  I  can  well  believe,  but 
that  he  is  too  fond  of  strong  drink  for  his  good, 
having  thereby  lost  the  favor  of  many  of  the  first 
families  here,  who  did  formerly  employ  him.  There 
was  one  ballad,  which  he  saith  is  of  his  own  mak 
ing,  concerning  the  selling  of  the  daughter  of  a 
great  Irish  lord  as  a  slave  in  this  land,  which  great 
ly  pleased  me ;  and  on  my  asking  for  a  copy  of  it, 
he  brought  it  to  me  this  morning,  in  a  fair  hand. 
I  copy  it  in  my  Journal,  as  I  know  that  Oliver, 
who  is  curious  in  such  things,  will  like  it. 


KATHLEEN. 

O  Norah  !  lay  your  basket  down, 
And  rest  your  weary  hand, 

And  come  and  hear  me  sing  a  song 
Of  our  Old  Ireland. 

There  was  a  lord  of  Galaway, 

A  mighty  lord  was  he, 
And  he  did  wed  a  second  wife, 

A  maid  of  low  degree. 


148        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

But  he  was  old,  and  she  was  young, 

And  so  in  evil  spite, 
She  baked  the  black  bread  for  his  kin, 

And  fed  her  own  with  white. 

She  whipped  the  maids,  and  starved  the  kern. 

And  drove  away  the  poor ; 
"  Ah,  woe  is  me  !  "  the  old  lord  said, 
"  I  rue  my  bargain  sore  !  " 

This  lord  he  had  a  daughter  fair, 

Beloved  of  old  and  young, 
And  nightly  round  the  shealing  fires 

Of  her  the  gleeman  sung. 

*'  As  sweet  and  good  is  young  Kathleen 

As  Eve  before  her  fall ;" 

So  sang  the  harper  at  the  fair, 

So  harped  he  in  the  hall. 

"  Oh  come  to  me,  my  daughter  dear ! 

Come  sit  upon  my  knee, 
For  looking  in  your  face,  Kathleen, 
Your  mother's  own  I  see  !  " 

He  smoothed  and  smoothed  her  hair  away. 

He  kissed  her  forehead  fair  : 
"  It  is  my  darling  Mary's  brow, 
It  is  my  darling's  hair  !  " 

Oh  then  spake  up  the  angry  dame, 

"  Get  up,  get  up,"  quoth  she, 
44 1  '11  sell  ye  over  Ireland, 

I  '11  sell  ye  o'er  the  sea !  " 

She  clipped  her  glossy  hair  away, 
That  none  her  rank  might  know, 

She  took  away  her  gown  of  silk 
And  gave  her  one  of  tow, 

And  sent  her  down  to  Limerick  town? 

And  to  a  captain  sold 
This  daughter  of  an  Irish  lord 

For  ten  good  pounds  in  gold. 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        149 

The  lord  he  smote  upon  his  breast, 

And  tore  his  beard  so  gray  ; 
But  he  was  old,  and  she  was  young, 

And  so  she  had  her  way. 

Sure  that  same  night  the  Banshee  howled 

To  fright  the  evil  dame, 
And  fairy  folks,  who  loved  Kathleen, 

With  funeral  torches  came. 

She  watched  them  glancing  through  the  trees, 

And  glimmering  down  the  hill ; 
They  crept  before  the  dead-vault  door, 

And  there  they  all  stood  still ! 

"  Get  up,  old  man  !  the  wake-lights  shine !  " 

"  Ye  murthering  witch,"  quoth  he, 
"  So  I  'm  rid  of  your  tongue,  I  little  care 

If  they  shine  for  you  or  me. 

"  Oh  whoso  brings  my  daughter  back, 

My  gold  and  land  shall  have  !  ' ' 
Oh  then  spake  up  his  handsome  page, 
"  No  gold  nor  land  I  crave  ! 

"  But  give  to  me  your  daughter  dear, 

And  by  the  Holy  Tree, 
Be  she  on  sea  or  on  the  land, 
I  '11  bring  her  back  to  thee." 

"  My  daughter  is  a  lady  born, 

And  you  of  low  degree, 
But  she  shall  be  your  bride  the  day 
Ye  bring  her  back  to  me." 

He  sailed  east,  he  sailed  west, 

And  north  and  south  sailed  he, 
Until  he  came  to  Boston  town, 

Across  the  great  salt  sea. 

"  Oh  have  ye  seen  the  young  Kathleen, 

The  flower  of  Ireland  ? 
Ye  '11  know  her  by  her  eyes  so  blue, 
And  by  her  snow-white  hand  !  " 


150        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

Out  spake  an  ancient  man,  "  I  know 
The  maiden  whom  ye  mean  ; 

I  bought  her  of  a  Limerick  man, 
And  she  is  called  Kathleen. 

"  No  skill  hath  she  in  household  work, 

Her  hands  are  soft  and  white, 
Yet  well  by  loving-  looks  and  ways 
She  doth  her  cost  requite." 

So  up  they  walked  through  Boston  town, 

And  met  a  maiden  fair, 
A  little  basket  on  her  arm, 

So  snowy-white  and  bare. 

"  Come  hither  child,  and  say  hast  thou 

This  young  man  ever  seen  ?  " 
They  wept  within  each  other's  arms, 
The  page  and  young  Kathleen. 

"  Oh  give  to  me  this  darling  child, 
And  take  my  purse  of  gold  :  " 
"  Nay,  not  by  me,"  her  master  said, 
"  Shall  sweet  Kathleen  be  sold. 

"  We  loved  her  in  the  place  of  one 

The  Lord  hath  early  ta'en  ; 

But  since  her  heart 's  in  Ireland, 

We  give  her  back  again  !  " 

Oh  for  that  same  the  saints  in  heaven 
For  his  poor  soul  shall  pray, 

And  Holy  Mother  wash  with  tears 
His  heresies  away. 

Sure  now  they  dwell  in  Ireland, 

As  you  go  up  Claremore 
Ye  '11  see  their  castle  looking  down 

The  pleasant  Gal  way  shore. 

And  the  old  lord's  wife  is  dead  and  gone, 

And  a  happy  man  is  he, 
For  he  sits  beside  his  own  Kathleen, 

With  her  darling  on  his  knee. 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        151 

March  27,  1679. 

Spent  the  afternoon  and  evening  yesterday  at 
Mr.  Mather's,  with  uncle  and  aunt,  Rebecca  and 
Sir  Thomas,  and  Mr.  Torrey  of  Weymouth,  and 
his  wife  ;  Mr.  Thacher,  the  minister  of  the  South 
Meeting,  and  Major  Simon  Willard  of  Concord, 
being  present  also.  There  was  much  discourse  of 
certain  Antinomians,  whose  loose  and  scandalous 
teachings  in  respect  to  works  were  strongly  con 
demned,  although  Mr.  Thacher  thought  there  might 
be  danger,  on  the  other  hand,  of  falling  into  the 
error  of  the  Socinians,  who  lay  such  stress  upon 
works,  that  they  do  not  scruple  to  undervalue  and 
make  light  of  faith.  Mr.  Torrey  told  of  some  of 
the  Antinomians,  who,  being  guilty  of  scandalous 
sins,  did  nevertheless  justify  themselves,  and  plead 
that  they  were  no  longer  under  the  law.  Sir 
Thomas  drew  Rebecca  and  I  into  a  corner  of  the 
room,  saying  he  was  a-weary  of  so  much  disputa 
tion,  and  began  relating  somewhat  which  befell  him 
in  a  late  visit  to  the  New  Haven  people.  Among 
other  things,  he  told  us  that  while  he  was  there,  a 
maid  of  nineteen  years  was  put  upon  trial  for  her 
life,  by  complaint  of  her  parents  of  disobedience 
of  their  commands,  and  reviling  them ;  that  at  first 
the  mother  of  the  girl  did  seem  to  testify  strongly 
against  her ;  but  when  she  had  spoken  a  few 
words,  the  accused  crying  out  with  a  bitter  lamen 
tation,  that  she  should  be  destroyed  in  her  youth 
by  the  words  of  her  own  mother,  the  woman  did  so 
soften  her  testimony  that  the  Court,  being  in  doubt 
upon  the  matter,  had  a  consultation  with  the  min 
isters  present,  as  to  whether  the  accused  girl  had 


152         MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

made  herself  justly  liable  to  the  punishment  pre 
scribed  for  stubborn  and  rebellious  children  in 
Deut.  xxi.  20,  21.  It  was  thought  that  this  law 
did  apply  specially  unto  a  rebellious  son,  according 
to  the  words  of  the  text,  and  that  a  daughter  could 
not  be  put  to  death  under  it ;  to  which  the  Court 
did  assent,  and  the  girl,  after  being  admonished, 
was  set  free.  Thereupon,  Sir  Thomas  told  us,  she 
ran  sobbing  into  the  arms  of  her  mother,  who  did 
rejoice  over  her  as  one  raised  from  the  dead,  and 
did  moreover  mightily  blame  herself  for  putting 
her  in  so  great  peril,  by  complaining  of  her  disobe 
dience  to  the  magistrates. 

Major  Willard,  a  pleasant,  talkative  man,  being 
asked  by  Mr.  Thacher  some  questions  pertaining 
to  his  journey  into  the  New  Hampshire,  in  the  year 
'52,  with  the  learned  and  pious  Mr.  Edward  John 
son,  in  obedience  to  an  order  of  the  General  Court, 
for  the  finding  the  northernmost  part  of  the  river 
Merrimac,  gave  us  a  little  history  of  the  same,  some 
parts  of  which  I  deemed  noteworthy.  The  com 
pany,  consisting  of  the  two  commissioners,  and  two 
surveyors,  and  some  Indians,  as  guides  and  hunt 
ers,  started  from  Concord  about  the  middle  of 
July,  and  followed  the  river  on  which  Concord  lies, 
until  they  came  to  the  great  Falls  of  the  Merrimac, 
at  Patucket,  where  they  were  kindly  entertained 
at  the  wigwam  of  a  chief  Indian  who  dwelt  there. 
They  then  went  on  to  the  Falls  of  the  Amoskeag, 
a  famous  place  of  resort  for  the  Indians,  and  en 
camped  at  the  foot  of  a  mountain,  under  the  shade 
of  some  great  trees,  where  they  spent  the  next  day, 
it  being  the  Sabbath.  Mr.  Johnson  read  a  portion 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        153 

of  the  Word,  and  a  psalm  was  sung,  the  Indians 
sitting  on  the  ground  a  little  way  off,  in  a  very  rev 
erential  manner.  They  then  went  to  Annahook- 
line,  where  were  some  Indian  cornfields,  and  thence 
over  a  wild,  hilly  country,  to  the  head  of  the  Mer- 
rimac,  at  a  place  called  by  the  Indians  Aquedah- 
can,  where  they  took  an  observation  of  the  latitude, 
and  set  their  names  upon  a  great  rock,  with  that  of 
the  worshipful  Governor,  John  Endicott.  Here 
was  the  great  Lake  Winnipiseogee,  as  large  over 
as  an  English  county,  with  many  islands  upon  it, 
very  green  with  trees  and  vines,  and  abounding 
with  squirrels  and  birds.  They  spent  two  days  at 
the  lake's  outlet,  one  of  them  the  Sabbath,  a  won 
derfully  still,  quiet  day  of  the  midsummer.  "  It  is 
strange,"  said  the  Major,  "  but  so  it  is,  that  al 
though  a  quarter  of  a  century  hath  passed  over  me 
since  that  day,  it  is  still  very  fresh  and  sweet  in 
my  memory.  Many  times,  in  my  musings,  I  seem 
to  be  once  more  sitting  under  the  beechen  trees  of 
Aquedahcan,  with  my  three  English  friends,  and  I 
do  verily  seem  to  see  the  Indians  squatted  on  the 
lake  shore,  round  a  fire,  cooking  their  dishes,  and 
the  smoke  thereof  curling  about  among  the  trees 
over  their  heads;  and  beyond  them  is  the  great 
lake  and  the  islands  thereof,  some  big  and  others 
exceeding  small,  and  the  mountains  that  do  rise  on 
the  other  side,  and  whose  woody  tops  show  in  the 
still  water  as  in  a  glass.  And,  withal,  I  do  seem 
to  have  a  sense  of  the  smell  of  flowers,  which  did 
abound  there,  and  of  the  strawberries  with  which 
the  old  Indian  cornfield  near  unto  us  was  red,  they 
being  then  ripe  and  luscious  to  the  taste.  It  seems, 
also,  as  if  I  could  hear  the  bark  of  my  dog,  and  the 


154        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

chatter  of  squirrels,  and  the  songs  of  the  birds,  in 
the  thick  woods  behind  us  ;  and,  moreover,  the 
voice  of  my  friend  Johnson,  as  he  did  call  to  mind 
these  words  of  the  104th  Psalm  :  '  Bless  the  Lord, 
O  my  soul !  who  coverest  thyself  with  light,  as 
with  a  garment;  who  stretchest  out  the  heavens 
like  a  curtain ;  who  layeth  the  beams  of  his 
chambers  in  the  waters  ;  who  maketh  the  clouds 
his  chariot ;  and  walketh  upon  the  wings  of  the 
wind  1 9  Ah  me !  I  shall  never  truly  hear  that 
voice  more,  unless,  through  God's  mercy,  I  be 
permitted  to  join  the  saints  of  light  in  praise 
and  thanksgiving  beside  stiller  waters  and  among 
greener  pastures  than  are  those  of  Aquedahcan." 

"He  was  a  shining  light,  indeed,"  said  Mr. 
Mather,  "  and,  in  view  of  his  loss  and  that  of  other 
worthies  in  Church  and  State,  we  may  well  say,  as 
of  old,  Help,  Lord,  for  the  godly  man  ceaseth  !  " 

Major  Willard  said  that  the  works  of  Mr.  John 
son  did  praise  him,  especially  that  monument  of 
his  piety  and  learning,  "  The  History  of  New  Eng 
land  ;  or,  Wonder- Working  Providence  of  Sion's 
Saviour,"  wherein  he  did  show  himself  in  verse 
and  in  prose  a  workman  not  to  be  ashamed.  There 
was  a  piece  which  Mr.  Johnson  writ  upon  birchen 
bark  at  the  head  of  the  Merrimac,  during  the 
journey  of  which  he  had  spoken,  which  had  never 
been  printed,  but  which  did  more  deserve  that 
honor  than  much  of  the  rhymes  with  which  the 
land  now  aboundeth.  Mr.  Mather  said  he  had  the 
piece  of  bark  then  in  his  possession,  on  which  Mr. 
Johnson  did  write  ;  and,  on  our  desiring  to  see  it, 
he  brought  it  to  us,  and,  as  we  could  not  well  make 
out  the  writing  thereon,  he  read  it  as  folio  we  th :  — 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        155 

This  lonesome  lake,  like  to  a  sea,  among  the  mountains  lies, 
And  like  a  glass  doth  show  their  shapes,  and  eke  the  clouds  and 

skies. 
God  lays  His  chambers'  beams  therein,  that  all  His  power  may 

know, 
And  holdeth  in  His  fist  the  winds,  that  else  would  mar  the  show. 

The  Lord  hath  blest  this  wilderness  with  meadows,  streams,  and 

springs, 

And  like  a  garden  planted  it  with  green  and  growing  things  ; 
And  filled  the  woods  with  wholesome  meats,  and  eke  with  fowls 

the  air, 
And  sown  the  land  with  flowers  and  herbs,  and  fruits  of  savor  rare. 

But  here  the  nations  know  him  not,  and  come  and  go  the  days, 
Without  a  morning  prayer  to  Him,  or  evening  song  of  praise  ; 
The  heathen  fish  upon  the  lake,  or  hunt  the  woods  for  meat, 
And  like  the  brutes  do  give  no  thanks  for  wherewithal  to  eat. 

They  dance  in  shame  and  nakedness,  with  horrid  yells  to  hear, 
And  like  to  dogs  they  make  a  noise,  or  screeching  owls  anear. 
Each  tribe,  like  Micah,  doth  its  priest  or  cunning  Powah  keep  ; 
Yea,  wizards  who,  like  them  of  old,  do  mutter  and  do  peep. 

A  cursed  and  an  evil  race,  whom  Satan  doth  mislead, 

And  rob  them  of  Christ's  hope,  whereby  he  makes  them  poop 

indeed ; 

They  hold  the  waters  and  the  hills,  and  clouds,  and  stars  to  be 
Their  gods ;  for,  lacking  faith,  they  do  believe  but  what  they  see. 

Yet  God  on  them  His  sun  and  rain  doth  evermore  bestow, 
And  ripens  all  their  harvest-fields  and  pleasant  fruits  also. 
For  them  He  makes  the  deer  and  moose,  for  them  the  fishes  swim, 
And  all  the  fowls  in  woods  and  air  are  goodly  gifts  from  Him. 

Yea,  more  ;  for  them,  as  for  ourselves,  hath  Christ  a  ransom  paid, 
And  on  Himself,  their  sins  and  ours,  a  common  burden  laid. 
By  nature  vessels  of  God's  wrath,  't  is  He  alone  can  give 
To  English  or  to  Indians  wild  the  grace  whereby  we  live. 

Oh,  let  us  pray  that  in  these  wilds  the  Gospel  may  be  preached, 
And  these  poor  Gentiles  of  the  woods  may  by  its  truth  be  reached ; 
That  ransomed  ones  the  tidings  glad  may  sound  with  joy  abroad, 
And  lonesome  Aquedahcan  hear  the  praises  of  the  Lord ! 


156        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

March  18. 

My  cough  still  troubling  me,  an  ancient  woman, 
coming  in  yesterday,  did  so  set  forth  the  worth  and 
virtue  of  a  syrup  of  her  making,  that  Aunt  Kaw- 
son  sent  Effie  over  to  the  woman's  house  for  a  bot 
tle  of  it.  The  woman  sat  with  us  a  pretty  while, 
being  a  lively  talking  body,  although  now  wellnigh 
fourscore  years  of  age.  She  could  tell  many  things 
of  the  old  people  of  Boston,  for,  having  been  in 
youth  the  wife  of  a  man  of  some  note  and  sub 
stance,  and  being  herself  a  notable  housewife  and 
of  good  natural  parts,  she  was  well  looked  upon 
by  the  better  sort  of  people.  After  she  became 
a  widow,  she  was  for  a  little  time  in  the  family  of 
Governor  Endicott,  at  Naumkeag,  whom  she  de- 
scribeth  as  a  just  and  goodly  man,  but  exceeding 
exact  in  the  ordering  of  his  household,  and  of  fiery 
temper  withal.  When  displeasured,  he  would  pull 
hard  at  the  long  tuft  of  hair  which  he  wore  upon 
his  chin ;  and  on  one  occasion,  while  sitting  in  the 
court,  he  plucked  off  his  velvet  cap,  and  cast  it  in 
the  face  of  one  of  the  assistants,  who  did  profess 
conscientious  scruples  against  the  putting  to  death 
of  the  Quakers. 

"I  have  heard  say  his  hand  was  heavy  upon 
these  people,"  I  said. 

"  And  well  it  might  be,"  said  the  old  woman, 
"for  more  pestilent  and  provoking  strollers  and 
ranters  you  shall  never  find  than  these  same  Qua 
kers.  They  were  such  a  sore  trouble  to  the  Gov 
ernor,  that  I  do  believe  his  days  were  shortened  by 
reason  of  them.  For  neither  the  jail,  nor  whip 
ping,  nor  cropping  of  ears,  did  suffice  to  rid  him  of 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL         157 

them.  At  last,  when  a  law  was  made  by  the  Gen 
eral  Court,  banishing  them  on  pain  of  death,  the 
Governor,  coming  home  from  Boston,  said  that  he 
now  hoped  to  have  peace  in  the  Colony,  and  that 
this  sharpness  would  keep  the  land  free  from  these 
troublers.  I  remember  it  well,  how  the  next  day 
he  did  invite  the  ministers  and  chief  men,  and  in 
what  a  pleasant  frame  he  was.  In  the  morning  I 
had  mended  his  best  velvet  breeches  for  him,  and 
he  praised  my  work  not  a  little,  and  gave  me  six 
shillings  over  and  above  my  wages ;  and,  says  he 
to  me:  'Goody  Lake,'  says  he,  'you  are  a  wor 
thy  woman,  and  do  feel  concerned  for  the  good  of 
Zioii,  and  the  orderly  carrying  of  matters  in  Church 
and  State,  and  hence  I  know  you  will  be  glad  to 
hear  that,  after  much  ado,  and  in  spite  of  the  striv 
ings  of  evil-disposed  people,  the  General  Court 
have  agreed  upon  a  law  for  driving  the  Quakers 
out  of  the  jurisdiction,  on  pain  of  death ;  so  that, 
if  any  come  after  this,  their  blood  be  upon  their 
own  heads.  It  is  what  I  have  wrestled  with  the 
Lord  for  this  many  a  month,  and  I  do  count  it  a 
great  deliverance  and  special  favor ;  yea,  I  may 
truly  say,  with  David:  "  Thou  hast  given  me 
my  heart's  desire,  and  hast  not  withholden  the 
prayer  of  my  lips.  Thy  hand  shall  find  out  all 
thine  enemies;  thou  shalt  make  them  as  a  fiery 
oven  in  the  time  of  thine  anger ;  the  Lord  shall 
swallow  them  up  in  his  wrath,  and  the  fire  shall 
devour  them."  You  will  find  these  words,  Goody 
Lake,'  says  he,  '  in  the  21st  Psalm,  where  what  is 
said  of  the  King  will  serve  for  such  as  be  in  au 
thority  at  this  time.'  For  you  must  know,  young 


158         MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

woman,  that  the  Governor  was  mighty  in  Scrip 
ture,  more  especially  in  his  prayers,  when  you 
could  think  that  he  had  it  all  at  his  tongue's  end. 

"  There  was  a  famous  dinner  at  the  Governor's 
that  day,  and  many  guests,  and  the  Governor  had 
ordered  from  his  cellar  some  wine,  which  was  a  gift 
from  a  Portuguese  captain,  and  of  rare  quality,  as 
I  know  of  mine  own  tasting,  when  word  was  sent 
to  the  Governor  that  a  man  wished  to  see  him, 
whom  he  bid  wait  awhile.  After  dinner  was  over, 
he  went  into  the  hall,  and  who  should  be  there  but 
Wharton,  the  Quaker,  who,  without  pulling  off  his 
hat,  or  other  salutation,  cried  out :  '  John  Endicott, 
hearken  to  the  word  of  the  Lord,  in  whose  fear 
and  dread  I  am  come.  Thou  and  thy  evil  coun 
sellors,  the  priests,  have  framed  iniquity  by  law, 
but  it  shall  not  avail  you.  Thus  saith  the  Lord, 
Evil  shall  slay  the  wicked,  and  they  that  hate  the 
righteous  shall  be  desolate ! '  Now,  when  the 
Governor  did  hear  this,  he  fell,  as  must  needs  be, 
into  a  rage,  and,  seeing  me  by  the  door,  he  bade 
me  call  the  servants  from  the  kitchen,  which  I  did, 
and  they  running  up,  he  bade  them  lay  hands  on 
the  fellow,  and  take  him  away ;  and  then,  in  a 
great  passion,  he  called  for  his  horse,  saying  he 
would  not  rest  until  he  had  seen  forty  stripes  save 
one  laid  upon  that  cursed  Quaker,  and  that  he 
should  go  to  the  gallows  yet  for  his  sauciness.  So 
they  had  him  to  jail,  and  the  next  morning  he  was 
soundly  whipped,  and  ordered  to  depart  the  juris 
diction." 

I,  being  curious  to  know  more  concerning  the 
Quakers,  asked  her  if  she  did  ever  talk  with  any  of 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        159 

them  who  were  dealt  with  by  the  authorities,  and 
what  they  said  for  themselves. 

"  Oh,  they  never  lacked  words,"  said  she,  "  but 
cried  out  for  liberty  of  conscience,  and  against  per 
secution,  and  prophesied  all  manner  of  evil  upon 
such  as  did  put  in  force  the  law.  Some  time  about 
the  year  '56,  there  did  come  two  women  of  them 
to  Boston,  aiid  brought  with  them  certain  of  their 
blasphemous  books,  which  the  constables  burnt  in 
the  street,  as  I  well  remember  by  this  token,  that, 
going  near  the  fire,  and  seeing  one  of  the  books 
not  yet  burnt,  I  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  when  one  of 
the  constables  gave  me  a  smart  rap  with  his  staff, 
and  snatched  it  away.  The  women  being  sent  to 
the  jail,  the  Deputy-Governor,  Mr.  Bellingham,  and 
the  Council,  thinking  they  might  be  witches,  were 
for  having  them  searched  ;  and  Madam  Belling 
ham  naming  me  and  another  woman  to  her  hus 
band,  he  sent  for  us,  and  bade  us  go  to  the  jail  and 
search  them,  to  see  if  there  was  any  witch-mark  on 
their  bodies.  So  we  went,  and  told  them  our  er 
rand,  at  which  they  marvelled  not  a  little,  and  one 
of  them,  a  young,  well-favored  woman,  did  entreat 
that  they  might  not  be  put  to  such  shame,  for  the 
jailer  stood  all  the  time  in  the  yard,  looking  in  at 
the  door ;  but  we  told  them  such  was  the  order,  and 
so,  without  more  ado,  stripped  them  of  their  clothes, 
but  found  nothing  save  a  mole  on  the  left  breast  of 
the  younger,  into  which  Goodwife  Page  thrust  her 
needle,  at  which  the  woman  did  give  a  cry  as  of 
pain,  and  the  blood  flowed  ;  whereas,  if  it  had  been 
a  witch's  mark,  she  would  not  have  felt  the  prick, 
nor  would  it  have  caused  blood.  So,  finding  noth- 


160         MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

ing  that  did  look  like  witchcraft,  we  left  them ;  and 
on  being  brought  before  the  Court,  Deputy-Gov 
ernor  Bellingham  asked  us  what  we  had  to  say  con 
cerning  the  women.  Whereupon  Goodwife  Page, 
being  the  oldest  of  us,  told  him  that  we  did  find  no 
appearance  of  witches  upon  their  bodies,  save  the 
mole  on  the  younger  woman's  breast  (which  was 
but  natural),  but  that  otherwise  she  was  fair  as 
Absalom,  who  had  no  blemish  from  the  soles  of  his 
feet  to  the  crown  of  his  head.  Thereupon  the 
Deputy-Governor  dismissed  us,  saying  that  it  might 
be  that  the  Devil  did  not  want  them  for  witches, 
because  they  could  better  serve  him  as  Quakers : 
whereat  all  the  Court  fell  to  laughing." 

"  And  what  did  become  of  the  women  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  They  kept  them  in  jail  awhile,"  said  Nurse 
Lake,  "  and  then  sent  them  back  to  England.  But 
the  others  that  followed  fared  harder,  —  some  get 
ting  whipped  at  the  cart-tail,  and  others  losing  their 
ears.  The  hangman's  wife  showed  me  once  the 
ears  of  three  of  them,  which  her  husband  cut  off  in 
the  jail  that  very  morning." 

"  This  is  dreadful !  "  said  I,  for  I  thought  of  my 
dear  brother  and  sweet  Margaret  Brewster,  and 
tears  filled  mine  eyes. 

"  Nay  ;  but  they  were  sturdy  knaves  and  vaga 
bonds,"  answered  Nurse  Lake,  "  although  one  of 
them  was  the  son  of  a  great  officer  in  the  Barba- 
does,  and  accounted  a  gentleman  before  he  did  run 
out  into  his  evil  practices.  But  cropping  of  ears 
did  not  stop  these  headstrong  people,  and  they  still 
coming,  some  were  put  to  death.  There  were 
three  of  them  to  be  hanged  at  one  time.  I  do 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        161 

remember  it  well,  for  it  was  a  clear,  warm  day 
about  the  last  of  October,  and  it  was  a  brave  sight 
to  behold.  There  was  Marshal  Michelsoii  and 
Captain  Oliver,  with  two  hundred  soldiers  afoot, 
besides  many  on  horse  of  our  chief  people,  and 
among  them  the  minister,  Mr.  Wilson,  looking  like 
a  saint  as  he  was,  with  a  pleasant  and  joyful  coun 
tenance,  and  a  great  multitude  of  people,  men, 
women,  and  children,  not  only  of  Boston,  but  from 
the  towns  round  about.  I  got  early  on  to  the 
ground,  and  when  they  were  going  to  the  gallows  I 
kept  as  near  to  the  condemned  ones  as  I  could. 
There  were  two  young,  well-favored  men,  and  a 
woman  with  gray  hairs.  As  they  walked  hand  in 
hand,  the  woman  in  the  middle,  the  Marshal, 
who  was  riding  beside  them,  and  who  was  a  merry 
drolling  man,  asked  her  if  she  was  n't  ashamed  to 
walk  hand  in  hand  between  two  young  men ;  where 
upon,  looking  upon  him  solemnly,  she  said  she  was 
not  ashamed,  for  this  was  to  her  an  hour  of  great 
joy,  and  that  no  eye  could  see,  no  ear  hear,  no 
tongue  speak,  and  no  heart  understand,  the  sweet 
incomes  and  refreshings  of  the  Lord's  spirit,  which 
she  did  then  feel.  This  she  spake  aloud,  so  that  all 
about  could  hear,  whereat  Captain  Oliver  bid  the 
drums  to  beat  and  drown  her  voice.  Now,  when 
they  did  come  to  the  gallows  ladder,  on  each  side  of 
which  the  officers  and  chief  people  stood,  the  two 
men  kept  on  their  hats,  as  is  the  ill  manner  of  their 
sort,  which  so  provoked  Mr.  Wilson,  the  minister, 
that  he  cried  out  to  them :  '  What !  shall  such  Jacks 
as  you  come  before  authority  with  your  hats  on  ? ' 
To  which  one  of  them  said :  '  Mind  you,  it  is  for 


162        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

not  putting  off  our  hats  that  we  are  put  to  death.' 
The  two  men  then  went  up  the  ladder,  and  tried  to 
speak ;  but  I  could  not  catch  a  word,  being  outside 
of  the  soldiers,  and  much  fretted  and  worried  by 
the  crowd.  They  were  presently  turned  off,  and 
then  the  woman  went  up  the  ladder,  and  they  tied 
her  coats  down  to  her  feet,  and  put  the  halter  on 
her  neck,  and,  lacking  a  handkerchief  to  tie  over 
her  face,  the  minister  lent  the  hangman  his.  Just 
then  your  Uncle  Rawson  comes  a-riding  up  to  the 
gallows,  waving  his  hand,  and  crying  out,  4  Stop ! 
she  is  reprieved ! '  So  they  took  her  down,  al 
though  she  said  she  was  ready  to  die  as  her  breth 
ren  did,  unless  they  would  undo  their  bloody  laws. 
I  heard  Captain  Oliver  tell  her  it  was  for  her  son's 
sake  that  she  was  spared.  So  they  took  her  to  jail, 
and  after  a  time  sent  her  back  to  her  husband  in 
Rhode  Island,  which  was  a  favor  she  did  in  no 
wise  deserve;  but  good  Governor  Endicott,  much 
as  he  did  abhor  these  people,  sought  not  their  lives, 
and  spared  no  pains  to  get  them  peaceably  out  the 
country ;  but  they  were  a  stubborn  crew,  and  must 
needs  run  their  necks  into  the  halter,  as  did  this 
same  woman ;  for,  coming  back  again,  under  pre 
tence  of  pleading  for  the  repeal  of  the  laws  against 
Quakers,  she  was  not  long  after  put  to  death.  The 
excellent  Mr.  Wilson  made  a  brave  ballad  on  the 
hanging,  which  I  have  heard  the  boys  in  the  street 
sing  many  a  time. 

"  A  great  number,  both  men  and  women,  were 
whipped  and  put  in  the  stocks,"  continued  the 
woman,  "  and  I  once  beheld  two  of  them,  one  a 
young  and  the  other  an  aged  woman,  in  a  cold  day 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        163 

in  winter,  tied  to  the  tail  of  a  cart,  going  through 
Salem  Street,  stripped  to  their  waists  as  naked  as 
they  were  born,  and  their  backs  all  covered  with 
red  whip-marks ;  but  there  was  a  more  pitiful  case 
of  one  Hored  Gardner,  a  young  married  woman, 
with  a  little  child  and  her  nurse,  who,  coming  to 
Weymouth,  was  laid  hold  of  and  sent  to  Boston, 
where  both  were  whipped,  and,  as  I  was  often  at 
the  jail  to  see  the  keeper's  wife,  it  so  chanced  that 
I  was  there  at  the  time.  The  woman,  who  was 
young  and  delicate,  when  they  were  stripping  her, 
held  her  little  child  in  her  arms ;  and  when  the 
jailer  plucked  it  from  her  bosom,  she  looked  round 
anxiously,  and,  seeing  me,  said,  'Good  woman,  I 
know  thou  'It  have  pity  on  the  babe,'  and  asked  me 
to  hold  it,  which  I  did.  She  was  then  whipped 
with  a  threefold  whip,  with  knots  in  the  ends,  which 
did  tear  sadly  into  her  flesh ;  and,  after  it  was  over, 
she  kneeled  down,  with  her  back  all  bleeding,  and 
prayed  for  them  she  called  her  persecutors.  I 
must  say  I  did  greatly  pity  her,  and  I  spoke  to  the 
jailer's  wife,  and  we  washed  the  poor  creature's 
back,  and  put  on  it  some  famous  ointment,  so 
that  she  soon  got  healed." 

Aunt  Rawson  now  coming  in,  the  matter  was 
dropped ;  but,  on  my  speaking  to  her  of  it  after 
Nurse  Lake  had  left,  she  said  it  was  a  sore  trial 
to  many,  even  those  in  authority,  and  who  were 
charged  with  the  putting  in  force  of  the  laws  against 
these  people.  She  furthermore  said,  that  Uncle 
Rawson  and  Mr.  Broad  street  were  much  cried  out 
against  by  the  Quakers  and  their  abettors  on  both 
sides  of  the  water,  but  they  did  but  their  duty  in 


164        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

the  matter,  and  for  herself  she  had  always  mourned 
over  the  coming  of  these  people,  and  was  glad 
when  the  Court  did  set  any  of  them  free.  When 
the  woman  was  hanged,  my  aunt  spent  the  whole 
day  with  Madam  Broadstreet,  who  was  so  wrought 
upon  that  she  was  fain  to  take  to  her  bed,  refusing 
to  be  conforted,  and  counting  it  the  heaviest  day 
of  her  life. 

"  Looking  out  of  her  chamber  window,"  said 
Aunt  Eawson,  "  I  saw  the  people  who  had  been  to 
the  hanging  coming  back  from  the  training-field  ; 
and  when  Anne  Broadstreet  did  hear  the  sound  of 
their  feet  in  the  road,  she  groaned,  and  said  that  it 
did  seem  as  if  every  foot  fell  upon  her  heart.  Pres 
ently  Mr.  Broadstreet  came  home,  bringing  with 
him  the  minister,  Mr.  John  Norton.  They  sat 
down  in  the  chamber,  and  for  some  little  time 
there  was  scarce  a  word  spoken.  At  length  Mad 
am  Broadstreet,  turning  to  her  husband  and  laying 
her  hand  on  his  arm,  as  was  her  loving  manner, 
asked  him  if  it  was  indeed  all  over.  '  The  woman 
is  dead,'  said  he  ;  '  but  I  marvel,  Anne,  to  see  you 
so  troubled  about  her.  Her  blood  is  upon  her  own 
head,  for  we  did  by  no  means  seek  her  life.  She 
hath  trodden  under  foot  our  laws,  and  misused  our 
great  forbearance,  so  that  we  could  do  no  otherwise 
than  we  have  done.  So  under  the  Devil's  delusion 
was  she,  that  she  wanted  no  minister  or  elder  to 
pray  with  her  at  the  gallows,  but  seemed  to  think 
herself  sure  of  heaven,  heeding  in  no  wise  the 
warnings  of  Mr.  Norton,  and  other  godly  people.' 
4  Did  she  rail  at,  or  cry  out  against  any  ? '  asked 
his  wife.  '  Nay,  not  to  my  hearing,'  he  said,  '  but 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        165 

she  carried  herself  as  one  who  had  done  no  harm, 
and  who  verily  believed  that  she  had  obeyed  the 
Lord's  will.' 

"  '  This  is  very  dreadful,'  said  she,  '  and  I  pray 
that  the  death  of  that  poor  misled  creature  may 
not  rest  heavy  upon  us.' 

"  Hereupon  Mr.  Norton  lifted  up  his  head,  which 
had  been  bowed  down  upon  his  hand ;  and  I  shall 
never  forget  how  his  pale  and  sharp  features  did 
seem  paler  than  their  wont,  and  his  solemn  voice 
seemed  deeper  and  sadder. 

"  4  Madam  ! '  he  said,  '  it  may  well  befit  your 
gentleness  and  sweetness  of  heart  to  grieve  over 
the  sufferings  even  of  the  froward  and  ungodly, 
when  they  be  cut  off  from  the  congregation  of  the 
Lord,  as  His  holy  and  just  law  enjoineth,  for  verily 
I  also  could  weep  for  the  condemned  one,  as  a 
woman  and  a  mother ;  and,  since  her  coming,  I 
have  wrestled  with  the  Lord,  in  prayer  and  fasting, 
that  I  might  be  His  instrument  in  snatching  her  as 
a  brand  from  the  burning.  But,  as  a  watchman  on 
the  walls  of  Zion,  when  I  did  see  her  casting  poi 
son  into  the  wells  'of  life,  and  enticing  unstable  souls 
into  the  snares  and  pitfalls  of  Satan,  what  should 
I  do  but  sound  an  alarm  against  her  ?  And  the 
magistrate,  such  as  your  worthy  husband,  who  is 
also  appointed  of  God,  and  set  for  the  defence  of  the 
truth,  and  the  safety  of  the  Church  and  the  State, 
what  can  he  do  but  faithfully  to  execute  the  law  of 
God,  which  is  a  terror  to  evil  doers?  The  natural 
pity  which  we  feel  must  give  place  unto  the  duty 
we  do  severally  owe  to  God  and  His  Church,  and 
the  government  of  His  appointment.  It  is  a  small 


166         MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

matter  to  be  judged  of  man's  judgment,  for,  though 
certain  people  have  not  scrupled  to  call  me  cruel 
and  hard  of  heart,  yet  the  Lord  knows  I  have  wept 
in  secret  places  over  these  misguided  men  and 
women.' 

" '  But  might  not  life  be  spared  ?  '  asked  Madam 
Broadstreet.  '  Death  is  a  great  thing.' 

"  4  It  is  appointed  unto  all  to  die,'  said  Mr.  Nor 
ton,  c  and  after  death  cometh  the  judgment.  The 
death  of  these  poor  bodies  is  a  bitter  thing,  but  the 
death  of  the  soul  is  far  more  dreadful ;  and  it  is 
better  that  these  people  should  suffer  than  that 
hundreds  of  precious  souls  should  be  lost  through 
their  evil  communication.  The  care  of  the  dear 
souls  of  my  flock  lieth  heavily  upon  me,  as  many 
sleepless  nights  and  days  of  fasting  do  bear  wit 
ness.  I  have  not  taken  counsel  of  flesh  and  blood 
in  this  grave  matter,  nor  yielded  unto  the  natural 
weakness  of  my  heart.  And  while  some  were  for 
sparing  these  workers  of  iniquity,  even  as  Saul 
spared  Agag,  I  have  been  strengthened,  as  it  were, 
to  hew  them  in  pieces  before  the  Lord  in  Gilgal. 
O  madam,  your  honored  husband  can  tell  you  what 
travail  of  spirit,  what  sore  trials,  these  disturbers 
have  cost  us ;  and  as  you  do  know  in  his  case,  so 
believe  also  in  mine,  that  what  we  have  done  hath 
been  urged,  not  by  hardness  and  cruelty  of  heart, 
but  rather  by  our  love  and  tenderness  towards  the 
Lord's  heritage  in  this  land.  Through  care  and 
sorrow  I  have  grown  old  before  my  time ;  few  and 
evil  have  been  the  days  of  my  pilgrimage,  and  the 
end  seems  not  far  off ;  and  though  I  have  many 
sins  and  shortcomings  to  answer  for,  I  do  humbly 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        167 

trust  that  the  blood  of  the  souls  of  the  flock  com 
mitted  to  me  will  not  then  be  found  upon  my 
garments.' 

"  Ah,  me !  I  shall  never  forget  these  words  of 
that  godly  man,"  continued  my  aunt,  "for,  as  he 
said,  his  end  was  not  far  off.  He  died  very  sud 
denly,  and  the  Quakers  did  not  scruple  to  say  that 
it  was  God's  judgment  upon  him  for  his  severe 
dealing  with  their  people.  They  even  go  so  far 
as  to  say  that  the  land  about  Boston  is  cursed  be 
cause  of  the  hangings  and  whippings,  inasmuch  as 
wheat  will  not  now  grow  here,  as  it  did  formerly, 
and,  indeed,  many,  not  of  their  way,  do  believe 
the  same  thing." 

April  24. 

A  vessel  from  London  has  just  come  to  port, 
bringing  Rebecca's  dresses  for  the  wedding,  which 
will  take  place  about  the  middle  of  June,  as  I  hear. 
Uncle  Rawson  has  brought  me  a  long  letter  from 
Aunt  Grindall,  with  one  also  from  Oliver,  pleasant 
and  lively,  like  himself.  No  special  news  from 
abroad  that  I  hear  of.  My  heart  longs  for  Old 
England  more  and  more. 

It  is  supposed  that  the  freeholders  have  chosen 
Mr.  Broadstreet  for  their  Governor.  The  vote, 
uncle  says,  is  exceeding  small,  very  few  people 
troubling  themselves  about  it. 

May  2. 

Mr.  John  Easton,  a  man  of  some  note  in  the 
Providence  Plantations,  having  occasion  to  visit 
Boston  yesterday,  brought  me  a  message  from  my 


168         MARGARET   SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

brother,  to  the  effect  that  he  was  now  married  and 
settled,  and  did  greatly  desire  me  to  make  the 
journey  to  his  house  in  the  company  of  his  friend, 
John  Easton,  and  his  wife's  sister.  I  feared  to 
break  the  matter  to  my  uncle,  but  Rebecca  hath 
done  so  for  me,  and  he  hath,  to  my  great  joy,  con 
sented  thereto ;  for,  indeed,  he  refuseth  nothing  to 
her.  My  aunt  fears  for  me,  that  I  shall  suffer 
from  the  cold,  as  the  weather  is  by  no  means  set 
tled,  although  the  season  is  forward,  as  compared 
with  the  last;  but  I  shall  take  good  care  as  to 
clothing ;  and  John  Easton  saith  we  shall  be  but 
two  nights  on  the  way. 

THE  PLANTATIONS,  May  10,  1679. 

We  left  Boston  on  the  4th,  at  about  sunrise,  and 
rode  on  at  a  brisk  trot,  until  we  came  to  the  banks 
of  the  river,  along  which  we  went  near  a  mile  before 
we  found  a  suitable  ford,  and  even  there  the  water 
was  so  deep  that  we  only  did  escape  a  wetting  by 
drawing  our  feet  up  to  the  saddle-trees.  About 
noon,  we  stopped  at  a  farmer's  house,  in  the  hope 
of  getting  a  dinner  ;  but  the  room  was  dirty  as  an 
Indian  wigwam,  with  two  children  in  it,  sick  with 
the  measles,  and  the  woman  herself  in  a  poor  way, 
and  we  were  glad  to  leave  as  soon  as  possible,  and 
get  into  the  fresh  air  again.  Aunt  had  provided 
me  with  some  cakes,  and  Mr.  Easton,  who  is  an  old 
traveller,  had  with  him  a  roasted  fowl  and  a  good 
loaf  of  Indian  bread  ;  so,  coming  to  a  spring  of 
excellent  water,  we  got  off  our  horses,  and,  spread 
ing  our  napkins  on  the  grass  and  dry  leaves,  had  a 
comfortable  dinner.  John's  sister  is  a  widow,  a 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        169 

lively,  merry  woman,  and  proved  rare  company  for 
me.  Afterwards  we  rode  until  the  sun  was  nigh 
setting,  when  we  came  to  a  little  hut  on  the  shore 
of  a  broad  lake  at  a  place  called  Massapog.  It 
had  been  dwelt  in  by  a  white  family  formerly,  but 
it  was  now  empty,  and  much  decayed  in  the  roof, 
and  as  we  did  ride  up  to  it  we  saw  a  wild  animal  of 
some  sort  leap  out  of  one  of  its  windows,  and  run 
into  the  pines.  Here  Mr.  Easton  said  we  must 
make  shift  to  tarry  through  the  night,  as  it  was 
many  miles  to  the  house  of  a  white  man.  So,  get 
ting  off  our  horses,  we  went  into  the  hut,  which 
had  but  one  room,  with  loose  boards  for  a  floor ; 
and  as  we  sat  there  in  the  twilight,  it  looked  dis 
mal  enough  ;  but  presently  Mr.  Easton,  coming  in 
with  a  great  load  of  dried  boughs,  struck  a  light  in 
the  stone  fireplace,  and  we  soon  had  a  roaring  fire. 
His  sister  broke  off  some  hemlock  boughs  near  the 
door,  and  made  a  broom  of  them,  with  which  she 
swept  up  the  floor,  so  that  when  we  sat  down  on 
blocks  by  the  hearth,  eating  our  poor  supper,  we 
thought  ourselves  quite  comfortable  and  tidy.  It 
was  a  wonderful  clear  night,  the  moon  rising,  as  we 
judged,  about  eight  of  the  clock,  over  the  tops  of 
the  hills  on  the  easterly  side  of  the  lake,  and  shin 
ing  brightly  on  the  water  in  a  long  line  of  light,  as 
if  a  silver  bridge  had  been  laid  across  it.  Looking 
out  into  the  forest,  we  could  see  the  beams  of  the 
moon,  falling  here  and  there  through  the  thick  tops 
of  the  pines  and  hemlocks,  and  showing  their  tall 
trunks,  like  so  many  pillars  in  a  church  or  temple. 
There  was  a  westerly  wind  blowing,  not  steadily, 
but  in  long  gusts,  which,  sounding  from  a  great 


170         MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

distance  through  the  pine  leaves,  did  make  a  solemn 
and  not  unpleasing  music,  to  which  I  listened  at 
the  door  until  the  cold  drove  me  in  for  shelter. 
Our  horses  having  been  fed  with  corn,  which  Mr. 
Easton  took  with  him,  were  tied  at  the  back  of  the 
building,  under  the  cover  of  a  thick  growth  of  hem 
locks,  which  served  to  break  off  the  night  wind. 
The  widow  and  I  had  a  comfortable  bed  in  the  cor 
ner  of  the  room,  which  we  made  of  small  hemlock 
sprigs,  having  our  cloaks  to  cover  us,  and  our  sad 
dle-bags  for  pillows.  My  companions  were  soon 
asleep,  but  the  exceeding  strangeness  of  my  situa 
tion  did  keep  me  a  long  time  awake.  For,  as  I  lay 
there  looking  upward,  I  could  see  the  stars  shining 
down  a  great  hole  in  the  roof,  and  the  moonlight 
streaming  through  the  seams  of  the  logs,  and  min 
gling  with  the  red  glow  of  the  coals  on  the  hearth. 
I  could  hear  the  horses  stamping,  just  outside,  and 
the  sound  of  the  water  on  the  lake  shore,  the  cry 
of  wild  animals  in  the  depth  of  the  woods,  and, 
over  all,  the  long  and  very  wonderful  murmur  of 
the  pines  in  the  wind.  At  last,  being  sore  weary, 
I  fell  asleep,  and  waked  not  until  I  felt  the  warm 
sun  shining  in  my  face,  and  heard  the  voice  of  Mr. 
Easton  bidding  me  rise,  as  the  horses  were  ready. 
After  riding  about  two  hours  we  came  upon  an 
Indian  camp,  in  the  midst  of  a  thick  wood  of  ma 
ples.  Here  were  six  spacious  wigwams ;  but  the 
men  were  away,  except  two  very  old  and  infirm 
ones.  There  were  five  or  six  women,  and  perhaps 
twice  as  many  children,  who  all  came  out  to  see 
us.  They  brought  us  some  dried  meat,  as  hard 
nigh  upon  as  chips  of  wood,  and  which,  although 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        171 

hungry,  I  could  feel  no  stomach  for ;  but  I  bought 
of  one  of  the  squaws  two  great  cakes  of  sugar, 
made  from  the  sap  of  the  maples  which  abound 
there,  very  pure  and  sweet,  and  which  served  me 
instead  of  their  unsavory  meat  and  cakes  of 
pounded  corn,  of  which  Mr.  Easton  and  his  sister 
did  not  scruple  to  partake.  Leaving  them,  we  had 
a  long  and  hard  ride  to  a  place  called  Winnicinnit, 
where,  to  my  great  joy,  we  found  a  comfortable 
house  and  Christian  people,  with  whom  we  tarried. 
The  next  day  we  got  to  the  Plantations ;  and  about 
noon,  from  the  top  of  a  hill,  Mr.  Easton  pointed 
out  the  settlement  where  my  brother  dwelt,  —  a 
fair,  pleasant  valley,  through  which  ran  a  small 
river,  with  the  houses  of  the  planters  on  either 
side.  Shortly  after,  we  came  to  a  new  frame  house, 
with  a  great  oak-tree  left  standing  on  each  side  of 
the  gate,  and  a  broad  meadow  before  it,  stretching 
down  to  the  water.  Here  Mr.  Easton  stopped ; 
and  now,  who  should  come  hastening  down  to  us 
but  my  new  sister,  Margaret,  in  her  plain  but  come 
ly  dress,  kindly  welcoming  me  ;  and  soon  my  brother 
came  up  from  the  meadow,  where  he  was  busy  with 
his  men.  It  was  indeed  a  joyful  meeting. 

The  next  day  being  the  Sabbath,  I  went  with 
my  brother  and  his  wife  to  the  meeting,  which  was 
held  in  a  large  house  of  one  of  their  Quaker  neigh 
bors.  About  a  score  of  grave,  decent  people  did 
meet  there,  sitting  still  and  quiet  for  a  pretty  while, 
when  one  of  their  number,  a  venerable  man,  spake 
a  few  words,  mostly  Scripture ;  then  a  young 
woman,  who,  I  did  afterwards  learn,  had  been 
hardly  treated  by  the  Plymouth  people,  did  offer  a 


172        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

few  words  of  encouragement  and  exhortation  from 
this  portion  of  the  34th  Psalm  :  "  The  angel  of 
the  Lord  encampeth  round  about  them  that  fear 
him,  and  deliver eth  them"  When  the  meeting 
was  over,  some  of  the  ancient  women  came  and 
spake  kindly  to  me,  inviting  me  to  their  houses. 
In  the  evening  certain  of  these  people  came  to  my 
brother's,  and  were  kind  and  loving  towards  me. 
There  was,  nevertheless,  a  gravity  and  a  certain 
staidness  of  deportment  which  I  could  but  ill  con 
form  unto,  and  I  was  not  sorry  when  they  took 
leave.  My  Uncle  Rawson  need  not  fear  my  join 
ing  with  them  ;  for,  although  I  do  judge  them  to 
be  a  worthy  and  pious  people,  I  like  not  their  man 
ner  of  worship,  and  their  great  gravity  and  sober 
ness  do  little  accord  with  my  natural  temper  and 
spirits. 

May  16. 

This  place  is  in  what  is  called  the  Narragansett 
country,  and  about  twenty  miles  from  Mr.  Wil- 
liams's  town  of  Providence,  a  place  of  no  small 
note.  Mr.  Williams,  who  is  now  an  aged  man, 
more  than  fourscore,  was  the  founder  of  the  Prov 
ince,  and  is  held  in  great  esteem  by  the  people,  who 
be  of  all  sects  and  persuasions,  as  the  Government 
doth  not  molest  any  in  worshipping  according  to 
conscience ;  and  hence  you  will  see  in  the  same 
neighborhood  Anabaptists,  Quakers,  New  Lights, 
Brownists,  Antinomians,  and  Socinians,  —  nay,  I 
am  told  there  be  Papists  also.  Mr.  Williams  is  a 
Baptist,  and  holdeth  mainly  with  Calvin  and  Beza, 
as  respects  the  decrees,  and  hath  been  a  bitter 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        173 

reviler  of  the  Quakers,  although  he  hath  ofttimes 
sheltered  them  from  the  rigor  of  the  Massachusetts 
Bay  magistrates,  who  he  saith  have  no  warrant  to 
deal  in  matters  of  conscience  and  religion,  as  they 
have  done. 

Yesterday  came  the  Governor  of  the  Rhode 
Island,  Nicholas  Easton,  the  father  of  John,  with 
his  youngest  daughter  Mary,  as  fair  and  as  lady 
like  a  person  as  I  have  seen  for  many  a  day.  Both 
her  father  and  herself  do  meet  with  the  "  Friends," 
as  they  call  themselves,  at  their  great  house  on  the 
Island,  and  the  Governor  sometimes  speaks  there 
in,  having,  as  one  of  the  elders  here  saith  of  him, 
"  a  pretty  gift  in  the  ministry."  Mary,  who  is 
about  the  age  of  my  brother's  wife,  would  fain  per 
suade  us  to  go  back  with  them  on  the  morrow  to 
the  Island,  but  Leonard's  business  will  not  allow 
it,  and  I  would  by  no  means  lose  his  company 
while  I  tarry  in  these  parts,  as  I  am  so  soon  to  de 
part  for  home,  where  a  great  ocean  will  separate 
us,  it  may  be  for  many  years.  Margaret,  who  hath 
been  to  the  Island,  saith  that  the  Governor's  house 
is  open  to  all  new-comers,  who  are  there  enter 
tained  with  rare  courtesy,  he  being  a  man  of  sub 
stance,  having  a  great  plantation,  with  orchards  and 
gardens,  and  a  stately  house  on  an  hill  over-look 
ing  the  sea  on  either  hand,  where,  six  years  ago, 
when  the  famous  George  Fox  was  on  the  Island, 
he  did  entertain  and  lodge  no  less  than  fourscore 
persons,  beside  his  own  family  and  servants. 

Governor  Easton,  who  is  a  pleasant  talker,  told 
a  story  of  a  magistrate  who  had  been  a  great  per 
secutor  of  his  people.  On  one  occasion,  after  he 


174        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

had  cast  a  worthy  Friend  into  jail,  he  dreamed  a 
dream  in  this  wise :  He  thought  he  was  in  a  fair, 
delightsome  place,  where  were  sweet  springs  of 
water  and  green  meadows,  and  rare  fruit-trees  and 
vines  with  ripe  clusters  thereon,  and  in  the  midst 
thereof  flowed  a  river  whose  waters  were  clearer 
than  crystal.  Moreover,  he  did  behold  a  great 
multitude  walking  on  the  river's  bank,  or  sitting 
lovingly  in  the  shade  of  the  trees  which  grew 
thereby.  Now,  while  he  stood  marvelling  at  all 
this,  he  beheld  in  his  dream  the  man  he  had  cast 
into  prison  sitting  with  his  hat  on,  side  by  side 
with  a  minister  then  dead,  whom  the  magistrate 
had  held  in  great  esteem  while  living;  whereat, 
feeling  his  anger  stirred  within  him,  he  went 
straight  and  bade  the  man  take  off  his  hat  in  the 
presence  of  his  betters.  Howbeit  the  twain  did 
give  no  heed  to  his  words,  but  did  continue  to  talk 
lovingly  together  as  before  ;  whereupon  he  waxed 
exceeding  wroth,  and  would  have  laid  hands  upon 
the  man.  But,  hearing  a  voice  calling  upon  him 
to  forbear,  he  did  look  about  him,  and  behold  one, 
with  a  shining  countenance,  and  clad  in  raiment  so 
white  that  it  did  dazzle  his  eyes  to  look  upon  it, 
stood  before  him.  And  the  shape  said,  "  Dost 
thou  well  to  be  angry  ? "  Then  said  the  magis 
trate,  "  Yonder  is  a  Quaker  with  his  hat  on  talking 
to  a  godly  minister."  "  Nay,"  quoth  the  shape, 
"  thou  seest  but  after  the  manner  of  the  world  and 
with  the  eyes  of  flesh.  Look  yonder,  and  tell  me 
what  thou  seest."  So  he  looked  again,  and  lo ! 
two  men  in  shining  raiment,  like  him  who  talked 
with  him,  sat  under  the  tree.  "  Tell  me,"  said  the 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL         175 

shape,  "  if  thou  canst,  which  of  the  twain  is  the 
Quaker  and  which  is  the  Priest  ?  "  And  when  he 
could  not,  but  stood  in  amazement  confessing  he 
did  see  neither  of  them,  the  shape  said,  "  Thou  say- 
est  well,  for  here  be  neither  Priest  nor  Quaker,  Jew 
nor  Gentile,  but  all  are  one  in  the  Lord."  Then 
he  awoke,  and  pondered  long  upon  his  dream,  and 
when  it  was  morning  he  went  straightway  to  the 
jail,  and  ordered  the  man  to  be  set  free,  and  hath 
ever  since  carried  himself  lovingly  towards  the 
Quakers. 

My  brother's  lines  have  indeed  fallen  unto  him 
in  a  pleasant  place.  His  house  is  on  a  warm  slope 
of  a  hill,  looking  to  the  southeast,  with  a  great 
wood  of  oaks  and  walnuts  behind  it,  and  before  it 
many  acres  of  open  land,  where  formerly  the  In 
dians  did  plant  their  corn,  much  of  which  is  now 
ploughed  and  seeded.  From  the  top  of  the  hill 
one  can  see  the  waters  of  the  great  Bay ;  at  the 
foot  of  it  runs  a  small  river  noisily  over  the  rocks, 
making  a  continual  murmur.  Going  thither  this 
morning,  I  found  a  great  rock  hanging  over  the 
water,  011  which  I  sat  down,  listening  to  the  noise 
of  the  stream  and  the  merriment  of  the  birds  in 
the  trees,  and  admiring  the  green  banks,  which 
were  besprinkled  with  white  and  yellow  flowers. 
I  call  to  mind  that  sweet  fancy  of  the  lamented 
Anne  Broadstreet,  the  wife  of  the  new  Governor 
of  Massachusetts,  in  a  little  piece  which  she  nam- 
eth  "  Contemplations,"  being  written  on  the  banks 
of  a  stream,  like  unto  the  one  whereby  I  was  then 
sitting,  in  which  the  writer  first  describeth  the 
beauties  of  the  wood,  and  the  flowing  water,  with 


176         MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

the  bright  fishes  therein,  and  then  the  songs  of 
birds  in  the  boughs  over  her  head,  in  this  sweet 
and  pleasing  verse,  which  I  have  often  heard  re 
peated  by  Cousin  Rebecca  :  — 

"  While  musing  thus,  with  contemplation  fed, 

And  thousand  fancies  buzzing  in  my  brain, 
A  sweet-tongued  songster  perched  above  my  head, 

And  chanted  forth  her  most  melodious  strain ; 
Which  rapt  me  so  with  wonder  and  delight, 
I  judged  my  hearing  better  than  my  sight, 
And  wished  me  wings  with  her  a  while  to  take  my  flight. 

"  0  merry  bird  !   said  I,  that  fears  no  snares, 

That  neither  toils  nor  hoards  up  in  the  barn, 
Feels  no  sad  thoughts,  nor  cruciating  cares, 

To  gain  more  good,  or  shun  what  might  thee  harm. 
Thy  clothes  ne'er  wear,  thy  meat  is  everywhere, 
Thy  bed  a  bough,  thy  drink  the  water  clear, 
Reminds  not  what  is  past,  nor  what 's  to  come  dost  fear. 

"  The  dawning  morn  with  songs  thou  dost  prevent, 
Sets  hundred  notes  unto  thy  feathered  crew, 

So  each  one  tunes  his  pretty  instrument. 

And,  warbling  out  the  old,  begins  the  new. 

And  thus  they  pass  their  youth  in  summer  season, 

Then  follow  thee  unto  a  better  region, 

Where  winter 's  never  felt  by  that  sweet  airy  legion." 

Now,  while  I  did  ponder  these  lines,  hearing  a  step 
in  the  leaves,  I  looked  up,  and  behold  there  was 
an  old  Indian  close  beside  me ;  and,  being  much 
affrighted,  I  gave  a  loud  cry,  and  ran  towards  the 
house.  The  old  man  laughed  at  this,  and,  calling 
after  me,  said  he  would  not  harm  me ;  and  Leon 
ard,  hearing  my  cries,  now  coming  up,  bade  me 
never  fear  the  Indian,  for  he  was  a  harmless  crea 
ture,  who  was  well  known  to  him.  So  he  kindly 
saluted  the  old  man,  asking  me  to  shake  hands 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        177 

with  him,  which  I  did,  when  he  struck  across  the 
field  to  a  little  cleared  spot  on  the  side  of  the  hill. 
My  brother  bidding  me  note  his  actions,  I  saw  him 
stoop  down  on  his  knees,  with  his  head  to  the 
ground,  for  some  space  of  time,  and  then,  getting 
up,  he  stretched  out  his  hands  towards  the  south 
west,  as  if  imploring  some  one  whom  I  could  not 
see.  This  he  repeated  for  nigh  upon  half  an  hour, 
when  he  came  back  to  the  house,  where  he  got 
some  beer  and  bread  to  eat,  and  a  great  loaf  to 
carry  away.  He  said  but  little  until  he  rose  to 
depart,  when  he  told  my  brother  that  he  had  been 
to  see  the  graves  of  his  father  and  his  mother,  and 
that  he  was  glad  to  find  them  as  he  did  leave  them 
the  last  year ;  for  he  knew  that  the  spirits  of  the 
dead  would  be  sore  grieved,  if  the  white  man's  hoe 
touched  their  bones. 

My  brother  promised  him  that  the  burfal-place 
of  his  people  should  not  be  disturbed,  and  that  he 
would  find  it  as  now,  when  he  did  again  visit  it. 

"  Me  never  come  again,"  said  the  old  Indian. 
"  No.  Umpachee  is  very  old.  He  has  no  squaw  ; 
he  has  no  young  men  who  call  him  father.  Um 
pachee  is  like  that  tree  ;  "  and  he  pointed,  as  he 
spoke,  to  a  birch,  which  stood  apart  in  the  field, 
from  which  the  bark  had  fallen,  and  which  did 
show  no  leaf  nor  bud. 

My  brother  hereupon  spake  to  him  of  the  great 
Father  of  both  white  and  red  men,  and  of  his  love 
towards  them,  and  of  the  measure  of  light  which 
he  had  given  unto  all  men,  whereby  they  might 
know  good  from  evil,  and  by  living  in  obedience 
to  which  they  might  be  happy  in  this  life  and  in 


178        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

that  to  come  ;  exhorting  him  to  put  his  trust  in 
God,  who  was  able  to  comfort  and  sustain  him  in 
his  old  age,  and  not  to  follow  after  lying  Powahs, 
who  did  deceive  and  mislead  him. 

"  My  young  brother's  talk  is  good,"  said  the  old 
man.  "  The  Great  Father  sees  that  his  skin  is 
white,  and  that  mine  is  red.  He  sees  my  young 
brother  when  he  sits  in  his  praying-house,  and  me 
when  me  offer  him  corn  and  deer's  flesh  in  the 
woods,  and  he  says  good.  Umpachee's  people 
have  all  gone  to  one  place.  If  Umpachee  go  to  a 
praying-house,  the  Great  Father  will  send  him  to 
the  white  man's  place,  and  his  father  and  his  mother 
and  his  sons  will  never  see  him  in  their  hunting- 
ground.  No.  Umpachee  is  an  old  beaver  that 
sits  in  his  own  house,  and  swims  in  his  own  pond. 
He  will  stay  where  he  is,  until  his  Father  calls  him. 

Saying  this,  the  old  savage  went  on  his  way.  As 
he  passed  out  of  the  valley,  and  got  to  the  top  of 
the  hill  on  the  other  side,  we,  looking  after  him, 
beheld  him  standing  still  a  moment,  as  if  bidding 
farewell  to  the  graves  of  his  people. 

May  24. 

My  brother  goes  with  me  to-morrow  on  my  way 
to  Boston.  I  am  not  a  little  loath  to  leave  my 
dear  sister  Margaret,  who  hath  greatly  won  upon 
me  by  her  gentleness  and  loving  deportment,  and 
who  doth  at  all  times,  even  when  at  work  in  order 
ing  her  household  affairs,  and  amidst  the  cares  and 
perplexities  of  her  new  life,  show  forth  that  sweet 
ness  of  temper  and  that  simplicity  wherewith  I  was 
charmed  when  I  first  saw  her.  She  hath  naturally 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        179 

an  ingenious  mind,  aod,  since  her  acquaintance 
with  my  brother,  hath  dipped  into  such  of  his  stud 
ies  and  readings  as  she  had  leisure  and  freedom  to 
engage  in,  so  that  her  conversation  is  in  no  wise 
beneath  her  station.  Nor  doth  she,  like  some  of 
her  people,  especially  the  more  simple  and  un 
learned,  affect  a  painful  and  melancholy  look  and 
a  canting  tone  of  discourse,  but  lacketh  not  for 
cheerfulness  and  a  certain  natural  ease  and  grace 
of  demeanor  ;  and  the  warmth  and  goodness  of  her 
heart  doth  at  times  break  the  usual  quiet  of  her 
countenance,  like  to  sunshine  and  wind  on  a  still 
water,  and  she  hath  the  sweetest  smile  I  ever  saw. 
I  have  often  thought,  since  I  have  been  with  her, 
that  if  Uncle  Rawson  could  see  and  hear  her  as  I 
do  for  a  single  day,  he  would  confess  that  my 
brother  might  have  done  worse  than  to  take  a 
Quaker  to  wife. 

BOSTON,  May  28,  1679. 

Through  God's  mercy,  I  got  here  safe  and  well, 
saving  great  weariness,  and  grief  at  parting  with 
my  brother  and  his  wife.  The  first  day  we  went  as 
far  as  a  place  they  call  Rehoboth,  where  we  tarried 
over  night,  finding  but  small  comfort  therein  ;  for 
the  house  was  so  filled,  that  Leonard  and  a  friend 
who  came  with  us  were  fain  to  lie  all  night  in  the 
barn,  on  the  mow  before  their  horses ;  and,  for 
mine  own  part,  I  had  to  choose  between  lying  in 
the  large  room,  where  the  man  of  the  house  and 
his  wife  and  two  sons,  grown  men,  did  lodge,  or  to 
climb  into  the  dark  loft,  where  was  barely  space 
for  a  bed,  —  which  last  I  did  make  choice  of,  al 
though  the  woman  thought  it  strange,  and  mar- 


180        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

veiled  not  a  little  at  my  unwillingness  to  sleep  in 
the  same  room  with  her  husband  and  boys,  as  she 
called  them.  In  the  evening,  hearing  loud  voices 
in  a  house  near  by,  we  inquired  what  it  meant,  and 
were  told  that  some  people  from  Providence  were 
holding  a  meeting  there,  the  owner  of  the  house 
being  accounted  a  Quaker.  Whereupon,  I  went 
thither  with  Leonard,  and  found  nigh  upon  a  score 
of  people  gathered,  and  a  man  with  loose  hair  and 
beard  speaking  to  them.  My  brother  whispered 
to  me  that  he  was  no  Friend,  but  a  noted  ranter, 
a  noisy,  unsettled  man.  He  screamed  exceeding 
loud,  and  stamped  with  his  feet,  and  foamed  at 
the  mouth,  like  one  possessed  with  an  evil  spirit, 
crying  against  all  order  in  State  or  Church,  and 
declaring  that  the  Lord  had  a  controversy  with 
Priests  and  Magistrates,  the  prophets  who  prophesy 
falsely,  and  the  priests  who  bear  rule  by  their 
means,  and  the  people  who  love  to  have  it  so.  H/ 
spake  of  the  Quakers  as  a  tender  and  hopeful  peo 
ple  in  their  beginning,  and  while  the  arm  of  the 
wicked  was  heavy  upon  them ;  but  now  he  said  that 
they,  even  as  the  rest,  were  settled  down  into  a 
dead  order,  and  heaping  up  worldly  goods,  and 
speaking  evil  of  the  Lord's  messengers.  They 
were  a  part  of  Babylon,  and  would  perish  with 
their  idols  ;  they  should  drink  of  the  wine  of  God's 
wrath ;  the  day  of  their  visitation  was  at  hand. 
After  going  on  thus  for  a  while,  up  gets  a  tall, 
wild-looking  woman,  as  pale  as  a  ghost,  and  trem 
bling  from  head  to  foot,  who,  stretching  out  her 
long  arms  towards  the  man  who  had  spoken,  bade 
the  people  take  notice  that  this  was  the  angel 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        181 

spoken  of  in  Revelation,  flying  through  the  midst 
of  heaven,  and  crying,  Woe  !  woe  !  to  the  inhabi 
tants  of  the  earth  !  with  more  of  the  like  wicked 
rant,  whereat  I  was  not  a  little  discomposed,  and, 
beckoning  niy  brother,  left  them  to  foam  out  their 
shame  to  themselves. 

The  next  morning,  we  got  upon  our  horses  at  an 
early  hour,  and  after  a  hard  and  long  ride  reached 
Mr.  Torrey's  at  Weymouth,  about  an  hour  after 
dark.  Here  we  found  Cousin  Torrey  in  bed  with 
her  second  child,  a  boy,  whereat  her  husband  is 
not  a  little  rejoiced.  My  brother  here  took  his 
leave  of  me,  going  back  to  the  Plantations.  My 
heart  is  truly  sad  and  heavy  with  the  great  grief 
of  parting. 

May  30. 

Went  to  the  South  meeting  to-day,  to  hear  the 
sermon  preached  before  the  worshipful  Governor, 
Mr.  Broadstreet,  and  his  Majesty's  Council,  it  be 
ing  the  election  day.  It  was  a  long  sermon,  from 
Esther  x.  3.  Had  much  to  say  concerning  the 
duty  of  Magistrates  to  support  the  Gospel  and  its 
ministers,  and  to  put  an  end  to  schism  and  heresy. 
Very  pointed,  also,  against  time-serving  Magis 
trates. 

June  1. 

Mr.  Michael  Wigglesworth,  the  Maiden  minis 
ter,  at  uncle's  house  last  night.  Mr.  Wigglesworth 
told  aunt  that  he  had  preached  a  sermon  against 
the  wearing  of  long  hair  and  other  like  vanities, 
which  he  hoped,  with  God's  blessing,  might  do 


182         MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

good.  It  was  from  Isaiah  iii.  16,  and  so  on  to  the 
end  of  the  chapter.  Now,  while  he  was  speaking 
of  the  sermon,  I  whispered  Rebecca  that  I  would 
like  to  ask  him  a  question,  which  he  overhearing, 
turned  to  me,  and  bade  me  never  heed,  but  speak 
out.  So  I  told  him  that  I  was  but  a  child  in  years 
and  knowledge,  and  he  a  wise  and  learned  man ; 
but  if  he  would  not  deem  it  forward  in  me,  I 
would  fain  know  whether  the  Scripture  did  any 
where  lay  down  the  particular  fashion  of  wearing 
the  hair. 

Mr.  Wi<rs;les  worth  said  that  there  were  certain 

OC5 

general  rules  laid  down,  from  which  we  might 
make  a  right  application  to  particular  cases.  The 
wearing  of  long  hair  by  men  is  expressly  forbidden 
in  1  Corinthians  xi.  14,  15  ;  and  there  is  a  special 
word  for  women,  also,  in  1  Tim.  ii.  9. 

Hereupon  Aunt  Rawson  told  me  she  thought  I 
was  well  answered  ;  but  I  (foolish  one  that  I  was), 
being  unwilling  to  give  up  the  matter  so,  ventured 
further  to  say  that  there  were  the  Nazarites,  spoken 
of  in  Numbers  vi.  5,  upon  whose  heads,  by  the 
appointment  of  God,  no  razor  was  to  come. 

"  Nay,"  said  Mr.  Wigglesworth,  "  that  was  by 
a  special  appointment  only,  and  proveth  the  general 
rule  and  practice." 

Uncle  Rawson  said  that  long  hair  might,  he 
judged,  be  lawfully  worn,  where  the  bodily  health 
did  require  it,  to  guard  the  necks  of  weakly  people 
from  the  cold. 

"  Where  there  seems  plainly  a  call  of  nature  for 
it,"  said  Mr.  Wigglesworth,  "  as  a  matter  of  bodily 
comfort,  and  for  the  warmth  of  the  head  and  neck, 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        183 

it  is  nowise  unlawful.  But  for  healthy,  sturdy 
young  people  to  make  this  excuse  for  their  sinful 
vanity  doth  but  add  to  their  condemnation.  If  a 
man  go  any  whit  beyond  God's  appointment  and 
the  comfort  of  nature,  I  know  not  where  he  will 
stop,  until  he  grows  to  be  the  veriest  ruffian  in  the 
world.  It  is  a  wanton  and  shameful  thing  for  a 
man  to  liken  himself  to  a  woman,  by  suffering  his 
hair  to  grow,  and  curling  and  parting  it  in  a  seam, 
as  is  the  manner  of  too  many.  It  betokeneth 
pride  and  vanity,  and  causeth  no  small  offence  to 
godly,  sober  people. 

"  The  time  hath  been,"  continued  Mr.  Wiggles- 
worth,  "  when  God's  people  were  ashamed  of  such 
vanities,  both  in  the  home  country  and  in  these 
parts ;  but  since  the  Bishops  and  the  Papists  have 
had  their  way,  and  such  as  feared  God  are  put 
down  from  authority,  to  give  place  to  scorners  and 
wantons,  there  hath  been  a  sad  change." 

He  furthermore  spake  of  the  gay  apparel  of  the 
young  women  of  Boston,  and  their  lack  of  plain 
ness  and  modesty  in  the  manner  of  wearing  and 
ordering  their  hair ;  and  said  he  could  in  no  wise 
agree  with  some  of  his  brethren  in  the  ministry 
that  this  was  a  light  matter,  inasmuch  as  it  did 
most  plainly  appear  from  Scripture  that  the  pride 
and  haughtiness  of  the  daughters  of  Zion  did  pro 
voke  the  judgments  of  the  Lord,  not  only  upon 
them,  but  upon  the  men  also.  Now,  the  special 
sin  of  women  is  pride  and  haughtiness,  and  that 
because  they  be  generally  more  ignorant,  being  the 
weaker  vessel ;  and  this  sin  venteth  itself  in  their 
gesture,  their  hair  and  apparel.  Now,  God  abhors 


184        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

all  pride,  especially  pride  in  base  things ;  and 
hence  the  conduct  of  the  daughters  of  Zion  does 
greatly  provoke  his  wrath,  first  against  themselves, 
secondly  their  fathers  and  husbands,  and  thirdly 
against  the  land  they  do  inhabit. 

Rebecca  here  roguishly  pinched  my  arm,  saying 
apart  that,  after  all,  we  weaker  vessels  did  seem  to 
be  of  great  consequence,  and  nobody  could  tell  but 
that  our  head-dresses  would  yet  prove  the  ruin  of 
the  country. 

June  4. 

Robert  Pike,  coming  into  the  harbor  with  his 
sloop,  from  the  Pemaquid  country,  looked  in  upon 
us  yesterday.  Said  that  since  coming  to  the  town 
he  had  seen  a  Newbury  man,  who  told  him  that  old 
Mr.  Wheelwright,  of  Salisbury,  the  famous  Boston 
minister  in  the  time  of  Sir  Harry  Vane  and  Madam 
Hutchinson,  was  now  lying  sick,  and  nigh  unto  his 
end.  Also,  that  Goodman  Morse  was  so  crippled 
by  a  fall  in  his  barn,  that  he  cannot  get  to  Boston 
to  the  trial  of  his  wife,  which  is  a  sore  affliction  to 
him.  The  trial  of  the  witch  is  now  going  on,  and 
uncle  saith  it  looks  much  against  her,  especially 
the  testimony  of  the  Widow  Goodwin  about  her 
child,  and  of  John  Gladding  about  seeing  one  half 
of  the  body  of  Goody  Morse  flying  about  in  the 
sun,  as  if  she  had  been  cut  in  twain,  or  as  if  the 
Devil  did  hide  the  lower  part  of  her.  Robert  Pike 
saith  such  testimony  ought  not  to  hang  a  cat,  the 
widow  being  little  more  than  a  fool ;  and  as  for 
the  fellow  Gladding,  he  was  no  doubt  in  his  cups, 
for  he  had  often  seen  him  in  such  a  plight  that  he 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        185 

could  not  have  told  Goody  Morse  from  the  Queen 
of  Sheba, 

June  8. 

The  Morse  woman  having  been  found  guilty  by 
the  Court  of  Assistants,  she  was  brought  out  to 
the  North  Meeting,  to  hear  the  Thursday  Lecture, 
yesterday,  before  having  her  sentence.  The  house 
was  filled  with  people,  they  being  curious  to  see 
the  witch.  The  Marshal  and  the  constables 
brought  her  in,  and  set  her  in  front  of  the  pulpit ; 
the  old  creature  looking  round  her  wildly,  as  if 
wanting  her  wits,  and  then  covering  her  face  with 
her  dark  wrinkled  hands  ;  a  dismal  sight !  The 
minister  took  his  text  in  Eomans  xiii.  3,  4,  espe 
cially  the  last  clause  of  the  4th  verse,  relating  to 
rulers  :  For  he  beareth  not  the  sword  in  vain,  &c. 
He  dwelt  upon  the  power  of  the  ruler  as  a  Minister 
of  God,  and  as  a  revenger  to  execute  wrath  upon 
him  that  doeth  evil ;  and  showeth  that  the  punish 
ment  of  witches  and  such  as  covenant  with  the 
Devil  is  one  of  the  duties  expressly  enjoined  upon 
rulers  by  the  Word  of  God,  inasmuch  as  a  witch 
was  not  to  be  suffered  to  live. 

He  then  did  solemnly  address  himself  to  the 
condemned  woman,  quoting  1  Tim.  v.  20 :  "  Them 
that  sin,  rebuke  before  all,  that  others  also  may 
fear"  The  woman  was  greatly  moved,  for  no 
doubt  the  sharp  words  of  the  preacher  did  prick 
her  guilty  conscience,  and  the  terrors  of  hell  did 
take  hold  of  her,  so  that  she  was  carried  out,  look 
ing  scarcely  alive.  They  took  her,  when  the  lec 
ture  was  over,  to  the  Court,  where  the  Governor 
did  pronounce  sentence  of  death  upon  her.  But 


186        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

uncle  tells  me  there  be  many  who  are  stirring  to 
get  her  respited  for  a  time,  at  least,  and  he  doth 
himself  incline  to  favor  it,  especially  as  Rebecca 
hath  labored  much  with  him  to  that  end,  as  also 
hath  Major  Pike  and  Major  Saltonstall  with  the 
Governor,  who  himself  sent  for  uncle  last  night, 
and  they  had  a  long  talk  together,  and  looked 
over  the  testimony  against  the  woman,  and  neither 
did  feel  altogether  satisfied  with  it.  Mr.  Norton 
adviseth  for  the  hanging;  but  Mr.  Willard,  who 
has  seen  much  of  the  woman,  and  hath  prayed 
with  her  in  the  jail,  thinks  she  may  be  innocent  in 
the  matter  of  witchcraft,  inasmuch  as  her  conver 
sation  was  such  as  might  become  a  godly  person  in 
affliction,  and  the  reading  of  the  Scripture  did 
seem  greatly  to  comfort  her. 

June  9. 

Uncle  Rawson  being  at  the  jail  to-day,  a  messen 
ger,  who  had  been  sent  to  the  daughter  of  Goody 
Morse,  who  is  the  wife  of  one  Hate  Evil  Nutter,  on 
the  Cocheco,  to  tell  her  that  her  mother  did  greatly 
desire  to  see  her  once  more  before  she  was  hanged, 
coming  in,  told  the  condemned  woman  that  her 
daughter  bade  him  say  to  her,  that  inasmuch  as 
she  had  sold  herself  to  the  Devil,  she  did  owe  her 
no  further  love  or  service,  and  that  she  could  not 
complain  of  this,  for  as  she  had  made  her  bed,  so 
she  must  lie.  Whereat  the  old  creature  set  up  a 
miserable  cry,  saying  that  to  have  her  own  flesh  and 
blood  turn  against  her  was  more  bitter  than  death 
itself.  And  she  begged  Mr.  Willard  to  pray  for 
her,  that  her  trust  in  the  Lord  might  not  be  shaken 
by  this  new  affliction. 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        187 

June  10. 

The  condemned  woman  hath  been  reprieved  by 
the  Governor  and  the  Magistrates  until  the  sit 
ting  of  the  Court  in  October.  Many  people,  both 
men  and  women,  coming  in  from  the  towns  about 
to  see  the  hanging,  be  sore  disappointed,  and  do 
vehemently  condemn  the  conduct  of  the  Governor 
therein.  For  mine  own  part,  I  do  truly  rejoice 
that  mercy  hath  been  shown  to  the  poor  creature  ; 
for  even  if  she  is  guilty,  it  affordeth  her  a  season 
for  repentance  ;  and  if  she  be  innocent,  it  saveth 
the  land  from  a  great  sin.  The  sorrowful  look  of 
the  old  creature  at  the  Lecture  hath  troubled  me 
ever  since,  so  forlorn  and  forsaken  did  she  seem. 
Major  Pike  (Robert's  father),  coming  in  this 
morning,  says,  next  to  the  sparing  of  Goody 
Morse's  life,  it  did  please  him  to  see  the  blood 
thirsty  rabble  so  cheated  out  of  their  diversion ; 
for  example,  there  was  Goody  Matson,  who  had 
ridden  bare-backed,  for  lack  of  a  saddle,  all  the 
way  from  Newbury,  on  Deacon  Dole's  hard-trotting 
horse,  and  was  so  galled  and  lame  of  it  that  she 
could  scarce  walk.  The  Major  said  he  met  her  at 
the  head  of  King  Street  yesterday,  with  half  a 
score  more  of  her  sort,  scolding  and  railing  about 
the  reprieve  of  the  witch,  and  prophesying  dread 
ful  judgments  upon  all  concerned  in  it.  He  said 
he  bade  her  shut  her  mouth  and  go  home,  where 
she  belonged  ;  telling  her  that  if  he  heard  any 
more  of  her  railing,  the  Magistrates  should  have 
notice  of  it,  and  she  would  find  that  laying  by  the 
heels  in  the  stocks  was  worse  than  riding  Deacon 
Dole's  horse. 


188        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

June  14. 

Yesterday  the  wedding  took  place.  It  was  an 
exceeding  brave  one  ;  most  of  the  old  and  honored 
families  being  at  it,  so  that  the  great  house  wherein 
my  uncle  lives  was  much  crowded.  Among  them 
were  Governor  Broadstreet  and  many  of  the  hon 
orable  Magistrates,  with  Mr.  Saltonstall  and  his 
worthy  lady  ;  Mr.  Richardson,  the  Newbury  min 
ister,  joining  the  twain  in  marriage,  in  a  very  sol 
emn  and  feeling  manner.  Sir  Thomas  was  richly 
apparelled,  as  became  one  of  his  rank,  and  Re 
becca  in  her  white  silk  looked  comely  as  an  angel. 
She  wore  the  lace  collar  I  wrought  for  her  last 
winter,  for  my  sake,  although  I  fear  me  she  had 
prettier  ones  of  her  own  working.  The  day  was 
wet  and  dark,  with  an  easterly  wind  blowing  in 
great  gusts  from  the  bay,  exceeding  cold  for  the 
season. 

Rebecca,  or  Lady  Hale,  as  she  is  now  called,  had 
invited  Robert  Pike  to  her  wedding,  but  he  sent 
her  an  excuse  for  not  coming,  to  the  effect  that  ur 
gent  business  did  call  him  into  the  eastern  country 
as  far  as  Monhegan  and  Pemaquid.  His  letter, 
which  was  full  of  good  wishes  for  her  happiness 
and  prosperity,  I  noted  saddened  Rebecca  a  good 
deal ;  and  she  was,  moreover,  somewhat  disturbed 
by  certain  things  that  did  happen  yesterday :  the 
great  mirror  in  the  hall  being  badly  broken,  and 
the  family  arms  hanging  over  the  fire-place  thrown 
down,  so  that  it  was  burned  by  the  coals  kindled 
on  the  hearth,  on  account  of  the  dampness ;  which 
were  looked  upon  as  ill  signs  by  most  people. 
Grindall,  a  thoughtless  youth,  told  his  sister  of  the 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        189 

burning  of  the  arms,  and  that  nothing  was  left 
save  the  head  of  the  raven  in  the  crest,  at  which 
she  grew  very  pale,  and  said  it  was  strange,  in 
deed,  and,  turning  to  me,  asked  me  if  I  did  put 
faith  in  what  was  said  of  signs  and  prognostics. 
So,  seeing  her  troubled,  I  laughed  at  the  matter, 
although  I  secretly  did  look  upon  it  as  an  ill  omen, 
especially  as  I  could  never  greatly  admire  Sir 
Thomas.  My  brother's  wife,  who  seemed  fully 
persuaded  that  he  is  an  unworthy  person,  sent  by 
me  a  message  to  Kebecca,  to  that  effect ;  but  I  had 
not  courage  to  speak  of  it,  as  matters  had  gone  so 
far,  and  uncle  and  aunt  did  seem  so  fully  bent 
upon  making  a  great  lady  of  their  daughter. 

The  vessel  in  which  we  are  to  take  our  passage 
is  near  upon  ready  for  the  sea.  The  bark  is  a 
London  one,  called  "  The  Three  Brothers,"  and  is 
commanded  by  an  old  acquaintance  of  Uncle  Raw- 
son.  I  am  happy  with  the  thought  of  going  home, 
yet,  as  the  time  of  departure  draws  nigh,  I  do  con 
fess  some  regrets  at  leaving  this  country,  where  I 
have  been  so  kindly  cared  for  and  entertained,  and 
where  I  have  seen  so  many  new  and  strange  things. 
The  great  solemn  woods,  as  wild  and  natural  as 
they  were  thousands  of  years  ago,  the  fierce  suns 
of  the  summer  season  and  the  great  snows  of  the 
winter,  and  the  wild  beasts,  and  the  heathen  In 
dians, —  these  be  things  the  memory  whereof  will 
ever  abide  with  me.  To-day  the  weather  is  again 
clear  and  warm,  the  sky  wonderfully  bright ;  the 
green  leaves  flutter  in  the  wind,  and  the  birds  are 
singing  sweetly.  The  waters  of  the  bay,  which  be 
yet  troubled  by  the  storm  of  last  night,  are  break- 


190        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

ing  in  white  foam  on  the  rocks  of  the  main  land, 
and  on  the  small  islands  covered  with  trees  and 
vines ;  and  many  boats  and  sloops  going  out  with 
the  west  wind,  to  their  fishing,  do  show  their  white 
sails  in  the  offing.  How  I  wish  I  had  skill  to 
paint  the  picture  of  all  this  for  my  English 
friends !  My  heart  is  pained,  as  I  look  upon  it, 
with  the  thought  that  after  a  few  days  I  shall  never 
see  it  more. 

June  18. 

To-morrow  we  embark  for  home.  Wrote  a  long 
letter  to  my  dear  brother  and  sister,  and  one  to  my 
cousins  at  York.  Mr.  Richardson  hath  just  left 
us,  having  come  all  the  way  from  Newbury  to  the 
wedding.  The  excellent  Governor  Broadstreet 
hath  this  morning  sent  to  Lady  Hale  a  handsome 
copy  of  his  first  wife's  book,  entitled  "  Several 
Poems  by  a  Gentlewoman  of  New  England,"  with 
these  words  on  the  blank  page  thereof,  from  Prov 
erbs  xxxi.  30,  "  A  woman  thatfeareth  the  Lord, 
she  shall  be  praised"  written  in  the  Governor's 
own  hand.  All  the  great  folks  hereabout  have  not 
failed  to  visit  my  cousin  since  her  marriage  ;  but  I 
do  think  she  is  better  pleased  with  some  visits  she 
hath  had  from  poor  widows  and  others  who  have 
been  in  times  past  relieved  and  comforted  by  her 
charities  and  kindness,  the  gratitude  of  these  people 
affecting  her  unto  tears.  Truly  it  may  be  said  of 
her,  as  of  Job  :  "  When  the  ear  heard  her  then  it 
blessed  her,  and  when  the  eye  saw  her  it  gave 
witness  to  her :  because  she  delivered  the  poor 
that  cried,  and  the  fatherless,  and  him  that  had 
none  to  help  him.  The  blessing  of  him  that  was 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL        191 

ready  to  perish  came  upon  her ;   and  she  caused 
the  widow's  heart  to  sing  for  joy" 


[Here  the  diary  ends  somewhat  abruptly.  It 
appears  as  if  some  of  the  last  pages  have  been  lost. 
Appended  to  the  manuscript  I  find  a  note,  in  an 
other  handwriting,  signed  "  R.  G.,"  dated  at  Mai- 
ton  Rectory,  1747.  One  Rawson  Grindall,  M.  A., 
was  curate  of  Malton  at  this  date,  and  the  initials 
are  undoubtedly  his.  The  sad  sequel  to  the  his 
tory  of  the  fair  Rebecca  Rawson  is  confirmed  by 
papers  now  on  file  in  the  State-House  at  Boston, 
in  which  she  is  spoken  of  as  "  one  of  the  most 
beautiful,  polite,  and  accomplished  young  ladies  in 
Boston."  —  Editor. ,] 

"  These  papers  of  my  honored  and  pious  grand 
mother,  Margaret  Smith,  who,  soon  after  her  return 
from  New  England,  married  her  cousin,  Oliver 
Grindall,  Esq.,  of  Hilton  Grange,  Crowell,  in  Ox 
fordshire  (both  of  whom  have  within  the  last  ten 
years  departed  this  life,  greatly  lamented  by  all 
who  knew  them),  having  come  into  my  possession, 
I  have  thought  it  not  amiss  to  add  to  them  a  nar 
rative  of  what  happened  to  her  friend  and  cousin, 
as  I  have  had  the  story  often  from  her  own  lips. 

"  It  appears  that  the  brave  gallant  calling  him 
self  Sir  Thomas  Hale,  for  all  his  fair  seeming  and 
handsome  address,  was  but  a  knave  and  impostor, 
deceiving  with  abominable  villany  Rebecca  Raw- 
son  and  most  of  her  friends  (although  my  grand 
mother  was  never  satisfied  with  him,  as  is  seen  in 


192        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

her  journal).  When  they  got  to  London,  being 
anxious,  on  account  of  sea-sickness  and  great  wea 
riness,  to  leave  the  vessel  as  soon  as  possible,  they 
went  ashore  to  the  house  of  a  kinsman  to  lodge, 
leaving  their  trunks  and  clothing  on  board.  Early 
on  the  next  morning,  he  that  called  himself  Sir 
Thomas  left  his  wife,  taking  with  him  the  keys  of 
her  trunks,  telling  her  he  would  send  them  up  from 
the  vessel  in  season  for  her  to  dress  for  dinner. 
The  trunks  came,  as  he  said,  but  after  waiting  im 
patiently  for  the  keys  until  near  the  dinner-hour, 
and  her  husband  not  returning,  she  had  them  bro 
ken  open,  and,  to  her  grief  and  astonishment,  found 
nothing  therein  but  shavings  and  other  combustible 
matter.  Her  kinsman  forthwith  ordered  his  car 
riage,  and  went  with  her  to  the  inn  where  they 
first  stopped  on  landing  from  the  vessel,  where  she 
inquired  for  Sir  Thomas  Hale.  The  landlord  told 
her  there  was  such  a  gentleman,  but  he  had  not 
seen  him  for  some  days.  '  But  he  was  at  your 
house  last  night,'  said  the  astonished  young  woman. 
4  He  is  my  husband,  and  I  was  with  him.'  The 
landlord  then  said  that  one  Thomas  Rumsey  was 
at  his  house,  with  a  young  lady,  the  night  before, 
but  she  was  not  his  lawful  wife,  for  he  had  one 
already  in  Kent.  At  this  astounding  news,  the 
unhappy  woman  swooned  outright,  and,  being 
taken  back  to  her  kinsman's,  she  lay  grievously  ill 
for  many  days,  during  which  time,  by  letters  from 
Kent,  it  was  ascertained  that  this  Rumsey  was  a 
graceless  young  spendthrift,  who  had  left  his  wife 
and  his  two  children  three  years  before,  and  gone 
to  parts  unknown. 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL         193 

"  My  grandmother,  who  affectionately  watched 
over  her,  and  comforted  her  in  her  great  affliction, 
has  often  told  me  that,  on  coining  to  herself,  her 
poor  cousin  said  it  was  a  righteous  judgment  upon 
her,  for  her  pride  and  vanity,  which  had  led  her  to 
discard  worthy  men  for  one  of  great  show  and  pre 
tensions,  who  had  no  solid  merit  to  boast  of.  She 
had  sinned  against  God,  and  brought  disgrace 
upon  her  family,  in  choosing  him.  She  begged 
that  his  name  might  never  be  mentioned  again  in 
her  hearing,  and  that  she  might  only  be  known  as 
a  poor  relative  of  her  English  kinsfolk,  and  find  a 
home  among  them  until  she  could  seek  out  some 
employment  for  her  maintenance,  as  she  could  not 
think  of  going  back  to  Boston,  to  become  the 
laughing-stock  of  the  thoughtless  and  the  reproach 
of  her  father's  family. 

"  After  the  marriage  of  my  grandmother,  Re 
becca  was  induced  to  live  with  her  for  some  years. 
My  great-aunt,  Martha  Grindall,  an  ancient  spin 
ster,  now  living,  remembers  her  well  at  that  time, 
describing  her  as  a  young  woman  of  a  sweet  and 
gentle  disposition,  and  much  beloved  by  all  the 
members  of  the  family.  Her  father,  hearing  of 
her  misfortunes,  wrote  to  her,  kindly  inviting  her 
to  return  to  New  England,  and  live  with  him,  and 
she  at  last  resolved  to  do  so.  My  great-uncle, 
Robert,  having  an  office  under  the  government  at 
Port  Royal,  in  the  island  of  Jamaica,  she  went  out 
with  him,  intending  to  sail  from  thence  to  Boston. 
From  that  place  she  wrote  to  my  grandmother  a 
letter,  which  I  have  also  in  my  possession,  inform 
ing  her  of  her  safe  arrival,  and  of  her  having  seen 


194        MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL 

an  old  friend,  Captain  Robert  Pike,  whose  busi 
ness  concerns  had  called  him  to  the  island,  who 
had  been  very  kind  and  considerate  in  his  atten 
tion  to  her,  offering  to  take  her  home  in  his  vessel, 
which  was  to  sail  in  a  few  days.  She  mentions,  in 
a  postscript  to  her  letter,  that  she  found  Captain 
Pike  to  be  much  improved  in  his  appearance  and 
manners,  —  a  true  natural  gentleman  ;  and  she 
does  not  forget  to  notice  the  fact  that  he  was  still 
single.  She  had,  she  said,  felt  unwilling  to  accept 
his  offer  of  a  passage  home,  holding  herself  un 
worthy  of  such  civilities  at  his  hands ;  but  he  had 
so  pressed  the  matter  that  she  had,  not  without 
some  misgivings,  consented  to  it. 

"  But  it  was  not  according  to  the  inscrutable 
wisdom  of  Providence  that  she  should  ever  be 
restored  to  her  father's  house.  Among  the  vic 
tims  of  the  great  earthquake  which  destroyed  Port 
Royal  a  few  days  after  the  date  of  her  letter,  was 
this  unfortunate  lady.  It  was  a  heavy  blow  to  my 
grandmother,  who  entertained  for  her  cousin  the 
tenderest  affection,  and,  indeed,  she  seems  to  have 
been  every  way  worthy  of  it,  —  lovely  in  person, 
amiable  in  deportment,  and  of  a  generous  and 
noble  nature.  She  was,  especially  after  her  great 
trouble,  of  a  somewhat  pensive  and  serious  habit 
of  mind,  contrasting  with  the  playfulness  and 
innocent  light-heartedness  of  her  early  life,  as  de 
picted  in  the  diary  of  my  grandmother,  yet  she 
was  ever  ready  to  forget  herself  in  ministering  to 
the  happiness  and  pleasures  of  others.  She  was 
not,  as  I  learn,  a  member  of  the  church,  having 
some  scruples  in  respect  to  the  rituals,  as  was 


MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL         195 

natural  from  her  education  in  New  England,  among 
Puritanic  schismatics ;  but  she  lived  a  devout  life, 
and  her  quiet  and  unostentatious  piety  exemplified 
the  truth  of  the  language  of  one  of  the  greatest  of 
our  divines,  the  Bishop  of  Down  and  Connor : 
4  Prayer  is  the  peace  of  our  spirit,  the  stillness  of 
our  thoughts,  the  issue  of  a  quiet  mind,  the  daugh 
ter  of  charity,  and  the  sister  of  meekness.'  Opti- 
mus  animus  est  pulcherrimus  Dei  cultus. 

"R.  G." 


TALES  AND  SKETCHES 


MY  SUMMER  WITH  DR.   SINGLETARY. 

A    FRAGMENT. 

CHAPTER   I. 

DR.  SINGLETARY  is  dead  ! 

Well,  what  of  it?  All  who  live  die  sooner 
or  later ;  and  pray  who  was  Dr.  Singletary,  that 
his  case  should  claim  particular  attention  ? 

Why,  in  the  first  place,  Dr.  Singletary,  as  a  man 
born  to  our  common  inheritance  of  joy  and  sor 
row,  earthly  instincts  and  heavenward  aspirations, 
—  our  brother  in  sin  and  suffering,  wisdom  and 
folly,  love,  and  pride,  and  vanity,  —  has  a  claim 
upon  the  universal  sympathy.  Besides,  whatever 
the  living  man  may  have  been,  death  has  now  in 
vested  him  with  its  great  solemnity.  He  is  with 
the  immortals.  For  him  the  dark  curtain  has  been 
lifted.  The  weaknesses,  the  follies,  and  the  re 
pulsive  mental  and  personal  idiosyncrasies  which 
may  have  kept  him  without  the  sphere  of  our  re 
spect  and  sympathy  have  now  fallen  off,  and  he 
stands  radiant  with  the  transfiguration  of  eternity, 
God's  child,  our  recognized  and  acknowledged 
brother. 


198  TALES   AND   SKETCHES 

Dr.  Singletary  is  dead.  He  was  an  old  man, 
and  seldom,  of  latter  years,  ventured  beyond  the 
precincts  of  his  neighborhood.  He  was  a  single 
man,  and  his  departure  has  broken  no  circle  of 
family  affection.  He  was  little  known  to  the  pub 
lic,  and  is  now  little  missed.  The  village  news 
paper  simply  appended  to  its  announcement  of  his 
decease  the  customary  post  mortem  compliment, 
"  Greatly  respected  by  all  who  knew  him ; "  and 
in  the  annual  catalogue  of  his  alma  mater  an  aste 
risk  has  been  added  to  his  name,  over  which  per 
chance  some  gray-haired  survivor  of  his  class  may 
breathe  a  sigh,  as  he  calls  up  the  image  of  the 
fresh-faced,  bright-eyed  boy,  who,  aspiring,  hope 
ful,  vigorous,  started  with  him  on  the  journey  of 
life,  —  a  sigh  rather  for  himself  than  for  its  un 
conscious  awakener. 

But,  a  few  years  have  passed  since  he  left  us  ; 
yet  already  wellnigh  all  the  outward  manifesta 
tions,  landmarks,  and  memorials  of  the  living  man 
have  passed  away  or  been  removed.  His  house, 
with  its  broad,  mossy  roof  sloping  down  on  one 
side  almost  to  the  rose-bushes  and  lilacs,  and  with 
its  comfortable  little  porch  in  front,  where  he  used 
to  sit  of  a  pleasant  summer  afternoon,  has  passed 
into  new  hands,  and  has  been  sadly  disfigured  by 
a  glaring  coat  of  white  paint ;  and  in  the  place 
of  the  good  Doctor's  name,  hardly  legible  on  the 
corner-board,  may  now  be  seen,  in  staring  letters 
of  black  and  gold,  "  VALENTINE  ORSON  STUBBS, 
M.  D.,  Indian  doctor  and  dealer  in  roots  and 
herbs,"  The  good  Doctor's  old  horse,  as  well 
known  as  its  owner  to  every  man,  woman,  and 


MY  SUMMER  WITH  DR.   SINGLETARY     199 

child  in  the  village,  has  fallen  into  the  new  comer's 
hands,  who  (being  prepared  to  make  the  most  of 
him,  from  the  fact  that  he  commenced  the  practice 
of  the  healing  art  in  the  stable,  rising  from  thence 
to  the  parlor)  has  rubbed  him  into  comparative 
sleekness,  cleaned  his  mane  and  tail  of  the  accu 
mulated  burrs  of  many  autumns,  and  made  quite 
a  gay  nag  of  him.  The  wagon,  too,  in  which  at 
least  two  generations  of  boys  and  girls  have  ridden 
in  noisy  hilarity  whenever  they  encountered  it  on 
their  way  to  school,  has  been  so  smartly  painted 
and  varnished,  that  if  its  former  owner  could  look 
down  from  the  hill-slope  where  he  lies,  he  would 
scarcely  know  his  once  familiar  vehicle  as  it  whirls 
glittering  along  the  main  road  to  the  village.  For 
the  rest,  all  things  go  on  as  usual ;  the  miller 
grinds,  the  blacksmith  strikes  and  blows,  the  cob 
bler  and  tailor  stitch  and  mend,  old  men  sit  in 
the  autumn  sun,  old  gossips  stir  tea  and  scandal, 
revival  meetings  alternate  with  apple -bees  and 
huskings,  —  toil,  pleasure,  family  jars,  petty  neigh 
borhood  quarrels,  courtship,  and  marriage,  —  all 
which  make  up  the  daily  life  of  a  country  village 
continue  as  before.  The  little  chasm  which  his 
death  has  made  in  the  hearts  of  the  people  where 
he  lived  and  labored  seems  nearly  closed  up. 
There  is  only  one  more  grave  in  the  burying- 
ground,  —  that  is  all. 

Let  nobody  infer  from  what  I  have  said  that  the 
good  man  died  unlamented ;  for,  indeed,  it  was  a 
sad  day  with  his  neighbors  when  the  news,  long 
expected,  ran  at  last  from  house  to  house  and  from 
workshop  to  workshop,  "  Dr.  Singletary  is  dead  !  " 


200  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

He  had  not  any  enemy  left  among  them  ;  in  one 
way  or  another  he  had  been  the  friend  and  bene 
factor  of  all.  Some  owed  to  his  skill  their  recov 
ery  from  sickness ;  others  remembered  how  he 
had  watched  with  anxious  solicitude  by  the  bedside 
of  their  dying  relatives,  soothing  them,  when  all 
human  aid  was  vain,  with  the  sweet  consolations 
of  that  Christian  hope  which  alone  pierces  the 
great  shadow  of  the  grave  and  shows  the  safe  step 
ping-stones  above  the  dark  waters.  The  old  missed 
a  cheerful  companion  and  friend,  who  had  taught 
them  much  without  wounding  their  pride  by  an 
offensive  display  of  his  superiority,  and  who,  while 
making  a  jest  of  his  own  trials  and  infirmities, 
could  still  listen  with  real  sympathy  to  the  queru 
lous  and  importunate  complaints  of  others.  For 
one  day,  at  least,  even  the  sunny  faces  of  child 
hood  were  marked  with  unwonted  thoughtfulness  ; 
the  shadow  of  the  common  bereavement  fell  over 
the  play-ground  and  nursery.  The  little  girl  re 
membered,  with  tears,  how  her  broken-limbed  doll 
had  taxed  the  surgical  ingenuity  of  her  genial 
old  friend ;  and  the  boy  showed  sorrowfully  to 
his  playmates  the  top  which  the  good  Doctor  had 
given  him.  If  there  were  few,  among  the  many 
who  stood  beside  his  grave,  capable  of  rightly 
measuring  and  appreciating  the  high  intellectual 
and  spiritual  nature  which  formed  the  background 
of  his  simple  social  life,  all  could  feel  that  no  com 
mon  loss  had  been  sustained,  and  that  the  kindly 
and  generous  spirit  which  had  passed  away  from 
them  had  not  lived  to  himself  alone. 

As  you  follow  the  windings  of  one  of  the  love- 


MY  SUMMER  WITH  DR.   SINGLETARY     201 

liest  rivers  of  New  England,  a  few  miles  above  the 
sea-mart,  at  its  mouth,  you  can  see  on  a  hill,  whose 
grassy  slope  is  checkered  with  the  graceful  foliage 
of  the  locust,  and  whose  top  stands  relieved  against 
a  still  higher  elevation,  dark  with  oaks  and  wal 
nuts,  the  white  stones  of  the  burying-place.  It  is 
a  quiet  spot,  but  without  gloom,  as  befits  "  God's 
Acre."  Below  is  the  village,  with  its  sloops  and 
fishing-boats  at  the  wharves,  and  its  crescent  of 
white  houses  mirrored  in  the  water.  Eastward  is 
the  misty  line  of  the  great  sea.  Blue  peaks  of  dis 
tant  mountains  roughen  the  horizon  of  the  north. 
Westward,  the  broad,  clear  river  winds  away  into 
a  maze  of  jutting  bluffs  and  picturesque  wooded 
headlands.  The  tall,  white  stone  on  the  westerly 
slope  of  the  hill  bears  the  name  of  "  Nicholas 
Singletary,  M.  D.,"  and  marks  the  spot  which  he 
selected  many  years  before  his  death.  When  I 
visited  it  last  spring,  the  air  about  it  was  fragrant 
with  the  bloom  of  sweet-brier  and  blackberry  and 
the  balsamic  aroma  of  the  sweet-fern ;  birds  were 
singing  in  the  birch-trees  by  the  wall ;  and  two 
little,  brown-locked,  merry-faced  girls  were  making 
wreaths  of  the  dandelions  and  grasses  which  grew 
upon  the  old  man's  grave.  The  sun  was  setting 
behind  the  western  river-bluffs,  flooding  the  valley 
with  soft  light,  glorifying  every  object  and  fusing 
all  into  harmony  and  beauty.  I  saw  and  felt  noth 
ing  to  depress  or  sadden  me.  I  could  have  joined 
in  the  laugh  of  the  children.  The  light  whistle  of 
a  young  teamster,  driving  merrily  homeward,  did 
not  jar  upon  my  ear ;  for  from  the  transfigured 
landscape,  and  from  the  singing  birds,  and  from 


202  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

sportive  childhood,  and  from  blossoming  sweet- 
brier,  and  from  the  grassy  mound  before  me,  I 
heard  the  whisper  of  one  word  only,  and  that  word 
was  PEACE. 


CHAPTER    II. 

SOME   ACCOUNT   OF   PEEWAWKIN   ON    THE    TOCKE- 
TUCK. 

WELL  and  truly  said  the  wise  man  of  old, 
"Much  study  is  a  weariness  to  the  flesh."  Hard 
and  close  application  through  the  winter  had  left 
me  ill  prepared  to  resist  the  baleful  influences  of 
a  New  England  spring.  I  shrank  alike  from  the 
storms  of  March,  the  capricious  changes  of  April, 
and  the  sudden  alternations  of  May,  from  the 
blandest  of  southwest  breezes  to  the  terrible  and 
icy  eastern  blasts  which  sweep  our  seaboard  like 
the  fabled  sanser,  or  wind  of  death.  The  buoyancy 
and  vigor,  the  freshness  and  beauty  of  life  seemed 
leaving  me.  The  flesh  and  the  spirit  were  no 
longer  harmonious.  I  was  tormented  by  a  night 
mare  feeling  of  the  necessity  of  exertion,  coupled 
with  a  sense  of  utter  inability.  A  thousand  plans 
for  my  own  benefit,  or  the  welfare  of  those  dear  to 
me,  or  of  my  fellow-men  at  large,  passed  before 
me  ;  but  I  had  no  strength  to  lay  hold  of  the  good 
angels  and  detain  them  until  they  left  their  bless 
ing.  The  trumpet  sounded  in  my  ears  for  the 
tournament  of  life  ;  but  I  could  not  bear  the  weight 
of  my  armor.  In  the  midst  of  duties  and  respon 
sibilities  which  I  clearly  comprehended,  I  found 


MY  SUMMER  WITH  DR.  SINGLETARY     203 

myself  yielding  to  the  absorbing  egotism  of  sick 
ness.  I  could  work  only  when  the  sharp  rowels  of 
necessity  were  in  my  sides. 

It  needed  not  the  ominous  warnings  of  my 
acquaintance  to  convince  me  that  some  decisive 
change  was  necessary.  But  what  was  to  be  done  ? 
A  voyage  to  Europe  was  suggested  by  my  friends  ; 
but  unhappily  I  reckoned  among  them  no  one  who 
was  ready,  like  the  honest  laird  of  Dumbiedikes, 
to  inquire,  purse  in  hand,  "  Will  siller  do  it  ?  "  In 
casting  about  for  some  other  expedient,  I  remem 
bered  the  pleasant  old-fashioned  village  of  Pee- 
wawkin,  on  the  Tocketuck  River.  A  few  weeks  of 
leisure,  country  air,  and  exercise,  I  thought  might 
be  of  essential  service  to  me.  So  I  turned  my  key 
upon  my  cares  and  studies,  and  my  back  to  the 
city,  and  one  fine  evening  of  early  June  the  mail 
coach  rumbled  over  Tocketuck  Bridge,  and  left 
me  at  the  house  of  Dr.  Singletary,  where  I  had 
been  fortunate  enough  to  secure  bed  and  board. 

The  little  village  of  Peewawkin  at  this  period 
was  a  well-preserved  specimen  of  the  old,  quiet, 
cozy  hamlets  of  New  England.  No  huge  factory 
threw  its  evil  shadow  over  it ;  no  smoking  demon 
of  an  engine  dragged  its  long  train  through  the 
streets ;  no  steamboat  puffed  at  its  wharves,  or 
ploughed  up  the  river,  like  the  enchanted  ship  of 
the  Ancient  Mariner,  — 

"Against  the  wind,  against  the  tide, 
Steadied  with  upright  keel." 

The  march  of  mind  had  not  overtaken  it.  It  had 
neither  printing-press  nor  lyceum.  As  the  fathers 
had  done  before  them,  so  did  its  inhabitants  at 


204  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

the  time  of  my  visit.  There  was  little  or  no  com 
petition  in  their  business ;  there  were  no  rich  men, 
and  none  that  seemed  over-anxious  to  become  so. 
Two  or  three  small  vessels  were  annually  launched 
from  the  carpenters'  yards  on  the  river.  It  had  a 
blacksmith's  shop,  with  its  clang  of  iron  and  roar 
of  bellows;  a  pottery,  garnished  with  its  coarse 
earthen-ware  ;  a  store,  where  molasses,  sugar,  and 
spices  were  sold  on  one  side,  and  calicoes,  tape, 
and  ribbons  on  the  other.  Three  or  four  small 
schooners  annually  left  the  wharves  for  the  St. 
George's  and  Labrador  fisheries.  Just  back  of  the 
village,  a  bright,  noisy  stream,  gushing  out,  like  a 
merry  laugh,  from  the  walnut  and  oak  woods  which 
stretched  back  far  to  the  north  through  a  narrow 
break  in  the  hills,  turned  the  great  wheel  of  a 
grist-mill,  and  went  frolicking  away,  like  a  wicked 
Undine,  under  the  very  windows  of  the  brown, 
lilac-shaded  house  of  Deacon  Warner,  the  miller, 
as  if  to  tempt  the  good  man's  handsome  daughters 
to  take  lessons  in  dancing.  At  one  end  of  the  little 
crescent-shaped  village,  at  the  corner  of  the  main 
road  and  the  green  lane  to  Deacon  Warner's  mill, 
stood  the  school-house,  —  a  small,  ill-used,  Spanish- 
brown  building,  its  patched  windows  bearing  un 
mistakable  evidence  of  the  mischievous  character 
of  its  inmates.  At  the  other  end,  farther  up  the 
river,  on  a  rocky  knoll  open  to  all  the  winds,  stood 
the  meeting-house,  —  old,  two  story,  and  full  of 
windows,  —  its  gilded  weathercock  glistening  in 
the  sun.  The  bell  in  its  belfry  had  been  brought 
from  France  by  Skipper  Evans  in  the  latter  part 
of  the  last  century.  Solemnly  baptized  and  con- 


MY  SUMMER  WITH  DR.   SINGLET ARY     205 

secrated  to  some  holy  saint,  it  had  called  to  prayer 
the  veiled  sisters  of  a  convent,  and  tolled  heavily 
in  the  masses  for  the  dead.  At  first  some  of  the 
church  felt  misgivings  as  to  the  propriety  of  hang 
ing  a  Popish  bell  in  a  Puritan  steeple-house ;  but 
their  objections  were  overruled  by  the  minister, 
who  wisely  maintained  that  if  Moses  could  use 
the  borrowed  jewels  and  ornaments  of  the  Egyp 
tians  to  adorn  and  beautify  the  ark  of  the  Lord,  it 
could  not  be  amiss  to  make  a  Catholic  bell  do  ser 
vice  in  an  Orthodox  belfry.  The  space  between 
the  school  and  the  meeting-house  was  occupied  by 
some  fifteen  or  twenty  dwellings,  many-colored  and 
diverse  in  age  and  appearance.  Each  one  had  its 
green  yard  in  front,  its  rose-bushes  and  lilacs. 
Great  elms,  planted  a  century  ago,  stretched  and 
interlocked  their  heavy  arms  across  the  street. 
The  mill-stream,  which  found  its  way  into  the 
Tocketuck,  near  the  centre  of  the  village,  was 
spanned  by  a  rickety  wooden  bridge,  rendered  pic 
turesque  by  a  venerable  and  gnarled  white-oak 
which  hung  over  it,  with  its  great  roots  half  bared 
by  the  water  and  twisted  among  the  mossy  stones 
of  the  crumbling  abutment. 

The  house  of  Dr.  Singletary  was  situated  some 
what  apart  from  the  main  street,  just  on  the  slope 
of  Blueberry  Hill,  —  a  great,  green  swell  of  land, 
stretching  far  down  from  the  north,  and  terminat 
ing  in  a  steep  bluff  at  the  river  side.  It  overlooked 
the  village  and  the  river  a  long  way  up  and  down. 
It  was  a  brown-looking,  antiquated  mansion,  built 
by  the  Doctor's  grandfather  in  the  earlier  days  of 
the  settlement.  The  rooms  were  large  and  low, 


206  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

with  great  beams,  scaly  with  whitewash,  running 
across  them,  scarcely  above  the  reach  of  a  tall 
man's  head.  Great-throated  fireplaces,  filled  with 
pine-boughs  and  flower-pots,  gave  promise  of  win 
ter  fires,  roaring  and  crackling  in  boisterous  hilar 
ity,  as  if  laughing  to  scorn  the  folly  and  discomfort 
of  our  modern  stoves.  In  the  porch  at  the  front 
door  were  two  seats,  where  the  Doctor  was  accus 
tomed  to  sit  in  fine  weather  with  his  pipe  and  his 
book,  or  with  such  friends  as  might  call  to  spend 
a  half  hour  with  him.  The  lawn  in  front  had 
scarcely  any  other  ornament  than  its  green  grass, 
cropped  short  by  the  Doctor's  horse.  A  stone  wall 
separated  it  from  the  lane,  half  overrun  with  wild 
hop,  or  clematis,  and  two  noble  rock-maples  arched 
over  with  their  dense  foliage  the  little  red  gate. 
Dark  belts  of  woodland,  smooth  hill  pasture, 
green,  broad  meadows,  and  fields  of  corn  and  rye, 
the  homesteads  of  the  villagers,  were  seen  on  one 
hand;  while  on  the  other  was  the  bright,  clear 
river,  with  here  and  there  a  white  sail,  relieved 
against  bold,  wooded  banks,  jutting  rocks,  or  tiny 
islands,  dark  with  dwarf  evergreens.  It  was  a 
quiet,  rural  picture,  a  happy  and  peaceful  contrast 
to  all  I  had  looked  upon  for  weary,  miserable 
months.  It  soothed  the  nervous  excitement  of 
pain  and  suffering.  I  forgot  myself  in  the  pleas 
ing  interest  which  it  awakened.  Nature's  healing 
ministrations  came  to  me  through  all  my  senses. 
I  felt  the  medicinal  virtues  of  her  sights,  and 
sounds,  and  aromal  breezes.  From  the  green  turf 
of  her  hills  and  the  mossy  carpets  of  her  wood 
lands  my  languid  steps  derived  new  vigor  and  elas- 


MY  SUMMER  WITH  DR.   S1NGLETARY     207 

ticity.  I  felt,  day  by  day,  the  transfusion  of  her 
strong  life. 

The  Doctor's  domestic  establishment  consisted 
of  Widow  Matson,  his  housekeeper,  and  an  idle 
slip  of  a  boy,  who,  when  he  was  not  paddling 
across  the  river,  or  hunting  in  the  swamps,  or 
playing  ball  on  the  "  Meetin'-'us-Hill,"  used  to  run 
of  errands,  milk  the  cow,  and  saddle  the  horse. 
Widow  Matson  was  a  notable  shrill-tongued  wo 
man,  from  whom  two  long-suffering  husbands  had 
obtained  what  might,  under  the  circumstances,  be 
well  called  a  comfortable  release.  She  was  neat 
and  tidy  almost  to  a  fault,  thrifty  and  industrious, 
and,  barring  her  scolding  propensity,  was  a  pattern 
housekeeper.  For  the  Doctor  she  entertained  so 
high  a  regard  that  nothing  could  exceed  her  indig 
nation  when  any  one  save  herself  presumed  to 
find  fault  with  him.  Her  bark  was  worse  than  her 
bite ;  she  had  a  warm,  woman's  heart,  capable  of 
soft  relentings ;  and  this  the  roguish  errand-boy  so 
well  understood  that  he  bore  the  daily  infliction  of 
her  tongue  with  a  good-natured  unconcern  which 
would  have  been  greatly  to  his  credit  had  it  not 
resulted  from  his  confident  expectation  that  an 
extra  slice  of  cake  or  segment  of  pie  would  ere 
long  tickle  his  palate  in  atonement  for  the  tingling 
of  his  ears. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  the  Doctor  had  cer 
tain  little  peculiarities  and  ways  of  his  own  which 
might  have  ruffled  the  down  of  a  smoother  temper 
than  that  of  the  Widow  Matson.  He  was  careless 
and  absent-minded.  In  spite  of  her  labors  and 
complaints,  he  scattered  his  superfluous  clothing, 


208  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

books,  and  papers  over  his  rooms  in  "  much-ad 
mired  disorder."  He  gave  the  freedom  of  his 
house  to  the  boys  and  girls  of  his  neighborhood, 
who,  presuming  upon  his  good  nature,  laughed  at 
her  remonstrances  and  threats  as  they  chased  each 
other  up  and  down  the  nicely-polished  stairway. 
Worse  than  all,  he  was  proof  against  the  vituper 
ations  and  reproaches  with  which  she  indirectly 
assailed  him  from  the  recesses  of  her  kitchen.  He 
smoked  his  pipe  and  dozed  over  his  newspaper  as 
complacently  as  ever,  while  his  sins  of  omission  and 
commission  were  arrayed  against  him. 

Peewawkin  had  always  the  reputation  of  a 
healthy  town :  and  if  it  had  been  otherwise,  Dr. 
Singletary  was  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  trans 
mute  the  aches  and  ails  of  its  inhabitants  into 
gold  for  his  own  pocket.  So,  at  the  age  of  sixty, 
he  was  little  better  off,  in  point  of  worldly  sub 
stance,  than  when  he  came  into  possession  of  the 
small  homestead  of  his  father.  He  cultivated  with 
his  own  hands  his  corn-field  and  potato-patch,  and 
trimmed  his  apple  and  pear  trees,  as  well  satisfied 
with  his  patrimony  as  Horace  was  with  his  rustic 
Sabine  villa.  In  addition  to  the  care  of  his  home 
stead  and  his  professional  duties,  he  had  long  been 
one  of  the  overseers  of  the  poor  and  a  member  of 
the  school  committee  in  his  town  ;  and  he  was 
a  sort  of  standing  reference  in  all  disputes  about 
wages,  boundaries,  and  cattle  trespasses  in  his 
neighborhood.  He  had,  nevertheless,  a  good  deal 
of  leisure  for  reading,  errands  of  charity,  and 
social  visits.  He  loved  to  talk  with  his  friends, 
Elder  Staples,  the  minister,  Deacon  Warner,  and 


MY  SUMMER  WITH  DR.   SINGLETARY     209 

Skipper  Evans.  He  was  an  expert  angler,  and 
knew  all  the  haunts  of  pickerel  and  trout  for  many 
miles  around.  His  favorite  place  of  resort  was  the 
hill  back  of  his  house,  which  afforded  a  view  of 
the  long  valley  of  the  Tocketuck  and  the  great  sea. 
Here  he  would  sit,  enjoying  the  calm  beauty  of  the 
landscape,  pointing  out  to  me  localities  interesting 
from  their  historical  or  traditional  associations,  or 
connected  in  some  way  with  humorous  or  pathetic 
passages  of  his  own  life  experience.  Some  of  these 
autobiographical  fragments  affected  me  deeply.  In 
narrating  them  he  invested  familiar  and  common 
place  facts  with  something  of  the  fascination  of 
romance.  "Human  life,"  he  would  say,  "is  the 
same  everywhere.  If  we  could  but  get  at  the 
truth,  we  should  find  that  all  the  tragedy  and 
comedy  of  Shakespeare  have  been  reproduced  in 
this  little  village.  God  has  made  all  of  one  blood ; 
what  is  true  of  one  man  is  in  some  sort  true  of 
another  ;  manifestations  may  differ,  but  the  essen 
tial  elements  and  spring  of  action  are  the  same. 
On  the  surface,  everything  about  us  just  now  looks 
prosaic  and  mechanical ;  you  see  only  a  sort  of 
bark-mill  grinding  over  of  the  same  dull,  mono 
tonous  grist  of  daily  trifles.  But  underneath  all 
this  there  is  an  earnest  life,  rich  and  beautiful 
with  love  and  hope,  or  dark  with  hatred,  and  sor 
row,  and  remorse.  That  fisherman  by  the  river 
side,  or  that  woman  at  the  stream  below,  with  her 
wash-tub,  —  who  knows  what  lights  and  shadows 
checker  their  memories,  or  what  present  thoughts 
of  theirs,  born  of  heaven  or  hell,  the  future  shall 
ripen  into  deeds  of  good  or  evil 9  Ah,  what  have 


210  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

I  not  seen  and  heard  ?  My  profession  has  been  to 
me,  in  some  sort,  like  the  vial  genie  of  the  Sala 
manca  student ;  it  has  unroofed  these  houses,  and 
opened  deep,  dark  chambers  to  the  hearts  of  their 
tenants,  which  no  eye  save  that  of  God  had  ever 
looked  upon.  Where  I  least  expected  them,  I 
have  encountered  shapes  of  evil ;  while,  on  the 
other  hand,  I  have  found  beautiful,  heroic  love  and 
self-denial  in  those  who  had  seemed  to  me  frivo 
lous  and  selfish." 

So  would  Dr.  Singletary  discourse  as  we  strolled 
over  Blueberry  Hill,  or  drove  along  the  narrow 
willow-shaded  road  which  follows  the  windings  of 
the  river.  He  had  read  and  thought  much  in  his 
retired,  solitary  life,  and  was  evidently  well  satis 
fied  to  find  in  me  a  gratified  listener.  He  talked 
well  and  fluently,  with  little  regard  to  logical 
sequence,  and  with  something  of  the  dogmatism 
natural  to  one  whose  opinions  had  seldom  been 
subjected  to  scrutiny.  He  seemed  equally  at  home 
in  the  most  abstruse  questions  of  theology  and 
metaphysics,  and  in  the  more  practical  matters  of 
mackerel-fishing,  corn-growing,  and  cattle-raising. 
It  was  manifest  that  to  his  book  lore  he  had  added 
that  patient  and  close  observation  of  the  processes 
of  Nature  which  often  places  the  unlettered  plough 
man  and  mechanic  on  a  higher  level  of  available 
intelligence  than  that  occupied  by  professors  and 
schoolmen.  To  him  nothing  which  had  its  root  in 
the  eternal  verities  of  Nature  was  "  common  or  un 
clean."  The  blacksmith,  subjecting  to  his  will  the 
swart  genii  of  the  mines  of  coal  and  iron ;  the  pot 
ter,  with  his  "  power  over  the  clay ;  "  the  skipper, 


MY  SUMMER  WITH  DR.  SINGLETARY     211 

who  had  tossed  in  his  frail  fishing-smack  among 
the  icebergs  of  Labrador;  the  farmer,  who  had 
won  from  Nature  the  occult  secrets  of  her  woods 
and  fields ;  and  even  the  vagabond  hunter  and 
angler,  familiar  with  the  habits  of  animals  and  the 
migration  of  birds  and  fishes,  —  had  been  his  in 
structors  ;  and  he  was  not  ashamed  to  acknowledge 
that  they  had  taught  him  more  than  college  or 
library. 


CHAPTER    III. 
THE  DOCTOR'S  MATCH-MAKING. 

"  GOOD-MORNING,  Mrs.  Barnet,"  cried  the  Doctor, 
as  we  drew  near  a  neat  farm-house  during  one  of 
our  morning  drives. 

A  tall,  healthful  young  woman,  in  the  bloom  of 
matronly  beauty,  was  feeding  chickens  at  the  door. 
She  uttered  an  exclamation  of  delight  and  hurried 
towards  us.  Perceiving  a  stranger  in  the  wagon 
she  paused,  with  a  look  of  embarrassment. 

"  My  friend,  who  is  spending  a  few  weeks  with 
me,"  explained  the  Doctor. 

She  greeted  me  civilly  and  pressed  the  Doctor's 
hand  warmly. 

"  Oh,  it  is  so  long  since  you  have  called  on  us 
that  we  have  been  talking  of  going  up  to  the  vil 
lage  to  see  you,  as  soon  as  Robert  can  get  away 
from  his  cornfield.  You  don't  know  how  little 
Lucy  has  grown.  You  must  stop  and  see  her." 

44  She 's  coming  to  see  me  herself,"  replied  the 


212  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

Doctor,  beckoning  to  a  sweet  blue-eyed  child  in 
the  door-way. 

The  delighted  mother  caught  up  her  darling  and 
held  her  before  the  Doctor. 

"  Does  n't  she  look  like  Robert  ?  "  she  inquired. 
"  His  very  eyes  and  forehead  !  Bless  me  !  here 
lie  is  now." 

A  stout,  hale  young  farmer,  in  a  coarse  checked 
frock  and  broad  straw  hat,  came  up  from  the  ad 
joining  field. 

"  Well,  Robert,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  how  do  mat 
ters  now  stand  with  you  ?  Well,  I  hope." 

"  All  right,  Doctor.  We  've  paid  off  the  last 
cent  of  the  mortgage,  and  the  farm  is  all  free  and 
clear.  Julia  and  I  have  worked  hard ;  but  we  're 
none  the  worse  for  it." 

"  You  look  well  and  happy,  I  am  sure,"  said  the 
Doctor.  "  I  don't  think  you  are  sorry  you  took 
the  advice  of  the  old  Doctor,  after  all." 

The  young  wife's  head  drooped  until  her  lips 
touched  those  of  her  child. 

"  Sorry !  "  exclaimed  her  husband.  u  Not  we  1 
If  there  's  anybody  happier  than  we  are  within  ten 
miles  of  us,  I  don't  know  them.  Doctor,  I  '11  tell 
you  what  I  said  to  Julia  the  night  I  brought  home 
that  mortgage.  4  Well,'  said  I,  4  that  debt 's  paid ; 
but  there  's  one  debt  we  can  never  pay  as  long  as 
we  live.'  '  I  know  it,'  says  she  ;  '  but  Dr.  Single- 
tary  wants  no  better  reward  for  his  kindness  than 
to  see  us  live  happily  together,  and  do  for  others 
what  he  has  done  for  us.'  ' 

"  Pshaw ! "  said  the  Doctor,  catching  up  his 
reins  and  whip.  "  You  owe  me  nothing.  But  I 


MY  SUMMER  WITH  DR.    SINGLETARY     213 

must  not  forget  my  errand.  Poor  old  Widow 
Osborne  needs  a  watcher  to-night ;  and  she  insists 
upon  having  Julia  Barnet,  and  nobody  else.  What 
shall  I  tell  her?" 

"  I  '11  go,  certainly.  I  can  leave  Lucy  now  as 
well  as  not." 

"  Good-by,  neighbors." 

"  Good-by,  Doctor." 

As  we  drove  off  I  saw  the  Doctor  draw  his  hand 
hastily  across  his  eyes,  and  he  said  nothing  for 
some  minutes. 

"  Public  opinion,"  said  he  at  length,  as  if  pur 
suing  his  meditations  aloud,  —  "  public  opinion  is, 
in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  public  folly  and  imperti 
nence.  We  are  slaves  to  one  another.  We  dare 
not  take  counsel  of  our  consciences  and  affections, 
but  must  needs  suffer  popular  prejudice  and  cus 
tom  to  decide  for  us,  and  at  their  bidding  are 
sacrificed  love  and  friendship  and  all  the  best  hopes 
of  our  lives.  We  do  not  ask,  What  is  right  and 
best  for  us?  but,  What  will  folks  say  of  it?  We 
have  no  individuality,  no  self-poised  strength,  no 
sense  of  freedom.  We  are  conscious  always  of  the 
gaze  of  the  many-eyed  tyrant.  We  propitiate  him 
with  precious  offerings  ;  we  burn  incense  perpetu 
ally  to  Moloch,  and  pass  through  his  fire  the  sacred 
first-born  of  our  hearts.  How  few  dare  to  seek 
their  own  happiness  by  the  lights  which  God  has 
given  them,  or  have  strength  to  defy  the  false 
pride  and  the  prejudice  of  the  world  and  stand 
fast  in  the  liberty  of  Christians !  Can  anything 
be  more  pitiable  than  the  sight  of  so  many,  who 
should  be  the  choosers  and  creators  under  God  of 


214  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

their  own  spheres  of  utility  and  happiness,  self- 
degraded  into  mere  slaves  of  propriety  and  custom, 
their  true  natures  undeveloped,  their  hearts  cramped 
and  shut  up,  each  afraid  of  his  neighbor  and 
his  neighbor  of  him,  living  a  life  of  unreality, 
deceiving  and  being  deceived,  and  forever  walking 
in  a  vain  show  ?  Here,  now,  we  have  just  left  a 
married  couple  who  are  happy  because  they  have 
taken  counsel  of  their  honest  affections  rather  than 
of  the  opinions  of  the  multitude,  and  have  dared 
to  be  true  to  themselves  in  defiance  of  impertinent 
gossip." 

"  You  speak  of  the  young  farmer  Barnet  and  his 
wife,  I  suppose?"  said  I. 

4t  Yes.  I  will  give  their  case  as  an  illustration. 
Julia  Atkins  was  the  daughter  of  Ensign  Atkins, 
who  lived  on  the  mill-road,  just  above  Deacon  War 
ner's.  When  she  was  ten  years  old  her  mother 
died ;  and  in  a  few  months  afterwards  her  father 
married  Polly  Wiggin,  the  tailoress,  a  shrewd,  self 
ish,  managing  woman.  Julia,  poor  girl!  had  a 
sorry  time  of  it ;  for  the  Ensign,  although  a  kind 
and  affectionate  man  naturally,  was  too  weak  and 
yielding  to  interpose  between  her  and  his  strong- 
minded,  sharp-tongued  wife.  She  had  one  friend, 
however,  who  was  always  ready  to  sympathize  with 
her.  Robert  Barnet  was  the  son  of  her  next-door 
neighbor,  about  two  years  older  than  herself ;  they 
had  grown  up  together  as  school  companions  and 
playmates  ;  and  often  in  my  drives  I  used  to  meet 
them  coming  home  hand  in  hand  from  school,  or 
from  the  woods  with  berries  and  nuts,  talking  and 
laughing  as  if  there  were  no  scolding  step-mothers 
in  the  world. 


MY  SUMMER  WITH  DR.   S1NGLETARY     215 

"  It  so  fell  out  that  when  Julia  was  in  her  six 
teenth  year  there  came  a  famous  writing-master  to 
Peewawkin.  He  was  a  showy,  dashing  fellow,  with 
a  fashionable  dress,  a  wicked  eye,  and  a  tongue 
like  the  old  serpent's  when  he  tempted  our  great- 
grandmother.  Julia  was  one  of  his  scholars,  and 
perhaps  the  prettiest  of  them  all.  The  rascal 
singled  her  out  from  the  first ;  and,  the  better  to 
accomplish  his  purpose,  he  left  the  tavern  and  took 
lodgings  at  the  Ensign's.  He  soon  saw  how  mat 
ters  stood  in  the  family,  and  governed  himself 
accordingly,  taking  special  pains  to  conciliate  the 
ruling  authority.  The  Ensign's  wife  hated  young 
Barnet,  and  wished  to  get  rid  of  her  step-daugh 
ter.  The  writing-master,  therefore,  had  a  fair 
field.  He  flattered  the  poor  young  girl  by  his 
attentions  and  praised  her  beauty.  Her  moral 
training  had  not  fitted  her  to  withstand  this  seduc 
tive  influence;  no  mother's  love,  with  its  quick, 
instinctive  sense  of  danger  threatening  its  object, 
interposed  between  her  and  the  tempter.  Her  old 
friend  and  playmate — he  who  could  alone  have 
saved  her  —  had  been  rudely  repulsed  from  the 
house  by  her  step-mother  ;  and,  indignant  and  dis 
gusted,  he  had  retired  from  all  competition  with 
his  formidable  rival.  Thus  abandoned  to  her  own 
undisciplined  imagination,  with  the  inexperience 
of  a  child  and  the  passions  of  a  woman,  she  was 
deceived  by  false  promises,  bewildered,  fascinated, 
and  beguiled  into  sin. 

"  It  is  the  same  old  story  of  woman's  confidence 
and  man's  duplicity.  The  rascally  writing-master, 
under  pretence  of  visiting  a  neighboring  town,  left 


216  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

his  lodgings  and  never  returned.  The  last  I  heard 
of  him,  he  was  the  tenant  of  a  western  peniten 
tiary.  Poor  Julia,  driven  in  disgrace  from  her 
father's  house,  found  a  refuge  in  the  humble  dwell 
ing  of  an  old  woman  of  no  very  creditable  charac 
ter.  There  I  was  called  to  visit  her  ;  and,  although 
not  unused  to  scenes  of  suffering  and  sorrow^  I 
had  never  before  witnessed  such  an  utter  abandon 
ment  to  grief,  shame,  and  remorse.  Alas !  what 
sorrow  was  like  unto  her  sorrow  ?  The  birth  hour 
of  her  infant  was  also  that  of  its  death. 

"  The  agony  of  her  spirit  seemed  greater  than 
she  could  bear.  Her  eyes  were  opened,  and  she 
looked  upon  herself  with  loathing  and  horror. 
She  would  admit  of  no  hope,  no  consolation ;  she 
would  listen  to  no  palliation  or  excuse  of  her  guilt. 
I  could  only  direct  her  to  that  Source  of  pardon 
and  peace  to  which  the  broken  and  contrite  heart 
never  appeals  in  vain. 

"  In  the  mean  time  Robert  Barnet  shipped  on 
board  a  Labrador  vessel.  The  night  before  he 
left  he  called  on  me,  and  put  in  my  hand  a  sum  of 
money,  small  indeed,  but  all  he  could  then  com 
mand. 

"  4  You  will  see  her  often,'  he  said.  4  Do  not  let 
her  suffer;  for  she  is  more  to  be  pitied  than 
blamed.' 

"  I  answered  him  that  I  would  do  all  in  my 
power  for  her  ;  and  added,  that  I  thought  far  bet 
ter  of  her,  contrite  and  penitent  as  she  was,  than  of 
some  who  were  busy  in  holding  her  up  to  shame 
and  censure. 

" '  God    bless   you  for    these   words ! '  he   said, 


MY  SUMMER  WITH  DR.  SINGLETARY     217 

grasping  my  hand.     4 1  shall  think  of  them  often. 
They  will  be  a  comfort  to  me.' 

"  As  for  Julia,  God  was  more  merciful  to  her 
than  man.  She  rose  from  her  sick-bed  thoughtful 
and  humbled,  but  with  hopes  that  transcended  the 
world  of  her  suffering  and  shame.  She  no  longer 
murmured  against  her  sorrowful  allotment,  but  ac 
cepted  it  with  quiet  and  almost  cheerful  resigna= 
tion  as  the  fitting  penalty  of  God's  broken  laws 
and  the  needed  discipline  of  her  spirit.  She  could 
say  with  the  Psalmist,  '  The  judgments  of  the  Lord 
are  true,  justified  in  themselves.  Thou  art  just,  O 
Lord,  and  thy  judgment  is  right.'  Through  my 
exertions  she  obtained  employment  in  a  respec 
table  family,  to  whom  she  endeared  herself  by  her 
faithfulness,  cheerful  obedience,  and  unaffected 
piety. 

"  Her  trials  had  made  her  heart  tender  with  sym 
pathy  for  all  in  affliction.  She  seemed  inevitably 
arawn  towards  the  sick  and  suffering.  In  their 
presence  the  burden  of  her  own  sorrow  seemed  to 
fall  off.  She  was  the  most  cheerful  and  sunny- 
faced  nurse  I  ever  knew;  and  I  always  felt  sure 
that  my  own  efforts  would  be  well  seconded  when 
I  found  her  by  the  bedside  of  a  patient.  Beautiful 
it  was  to  see  this  poor  young  girl,  whom  the  world 
still  looked  upon  with  scorn  and  unkindness,  cheer 
ing  the  desponding,  and  imparting,  as  it  were,  her 
own  strong,  healthful  life  to  the  weak  and  faint ; 
supporting  upon  her  bosom,  through  weary  nights, 
the  heads  of  those  who,  in  health,  would  have 
deemed  her  touch  pollution ;  or  to  hear  her  sing 
ing  for  the  ear  of  the  dying  some  sweet  hymn  of 


218  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

pious  hope  or  resignation,  or  calling  to  mind  the 
consolations  of  the  gospel  and  the  great  love  of 
Christ." 

"  I  trust,"  said  I,  "  that  the  feelings  of  the  com 
munity  were  softened  towards  her." 

"  You  know  what  human  nature  is,"  returned  the 
Doctor,  "  and  with  what  hearty  satisfaction  we  ab 
hor  and  censure  sin  and  folly  in  others.  It  is  a 
luxury  which  we  cannot  easily  forego,  although  our 
own  experience  tells  us  that  the  consequences  of 
vice  and  error  are  evil  and  bitter  enough  without 
the  aggravation  of  ridicule  and  reproach  from  with 
out.  So  you  need  not  be  surprised  to  learn  that, 
in  poor  Julia's  case,  the  charity  of  sinners  like  her 
self  did  not  keep  pace  with  the  mercy  and  forgive 
ness  of  Him  who  is  infinite  in  purity.  Neverthe 
less,  I  will  do  our  people  the  justice  to  say  that 
her  blameless  and  self-sacrificing  life  was  not  with 
out  its  proper  effect  upon  them." 

"  What  became  of  Robert  Barnet  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  He  came  back  after  an  absence  of  '  several 
months,  and  called  on  me  before  he  had  even  seen 
his  father  and  mother.  He  did  not  mention  Julia  ; 
but  I  saw  that  his  errand  with  me  concerned  her. 
I  spoke  of  her  excellent  deportment  and  her  useful 
life,  dwelt  upon  the  extenuating  circumstances 
of  her  error  and  of  her  sincere  and  hearty  repent 
ance. 

" '  Doctor,'  said  he,  at  length,  with  a  hesitating 
and  embarrassed  manner,  '  what  should  you  think 
if  I  should  tell  you  that,  after  all  that  has  passed,  I 
have  half  made  up  my  mind  to  ask  her  to  become 
my  wife  ? ' 


MY  SUMMER   WITH  DR.   SINGLETARY     219 

" '  I  should  think  better  of  it  if  you  had  wholly 
made  up  your  mind,'  said  I ;  4  and  if  you  were  my 
own  son,  I  would  n't  ask  for  you  a  better  wife  than 
Julia  Atkins.  Don't  hesitate,  Robert,  on  account 
of  what  some  ill-natured  people  may  say.  Consult 
your  own  heart  first  of  all.' 

" '  I  don't  care  for  the  talk  of  all  the  busybodies 
in  town,'  said  he ;  '  but  I  wish  father  and  mother 
could  feel  as  you  do  about  her.' 

" '  Leave  that  to  me,'  said  I.  '  They  are  kind- 
hearted  and  reasonable,  and  I  dare  say  will  be  dis 
posed  to  make  the  best  of  the  matter  when  they 
find  you  are  decided  in  your  purpose.' 

"  I  did  not  see  him  again  ;  but  a  few  days  after  I 
learned  from  his  parents  that  he  had  gone  on  an 
other  voyage.  It  was  now  autumn,  and  the  most 
sickly  season  I  had  ever  known  in  Peewawkin. 
Ensign  Atkins  and  his  wife  both  fell  sick ;  and 
Julia  embraced  with  alacrity  this  providential  op 
portunity  to  return  to  her  father's  house  and  fulfil 
the  duties  of  a  daughter.  Under  her  careful  nurs 
ing  the  Ensign  soon  got  upon  his  feet ;  but  his  wife, 
whose  constitution  was  weaker,  sunk  under  the 
fever.  She  died  better  than  she  had  lived,  —  peni 
tent  and  loving,  asking  forgiveness  of  Julia  for  her 
neglect  and  unkindness,  and  invoking  blessings  on 
her  head.  Julia  had  now,  for  the  first  time  since 
the  death  of  her  mother,  a  comfortable  home  and 
a  father's  love  and  protection.  Her  sweetness  of 
temper,  patient  endurance,  and  forgetfulness  of 
herself  in  her  labors  for  others,  gradually  overcame 
the  scruples  and  hard  feelings  of  her  neighbors. 
They  began  to  question  whether,  after  all,  it  was 


220  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

meritorious  in  them  to  treat  one  like  her  as  a  sinner 
beyond  forgiveness.  Elder  Staples  and  Deacon 
Warner  were  her  fast  friends.  The  Deacon's 
daughters  —  the  tall,  blue -eyed,  brown-locked  girls 
you  noticed  in  meeting  the  other  day  —  set  the 
example  among  the  young  people  of  treating  her 
as  their  equal  and  companion.  The  dear  good 
girls !  They  reminded  me  of  the  maidens  of  Naxos 
cheering  and  comforting  the  unhappy  Ariadne. 

"  One  midwinter  evening  I  took  Julia  with  me  to 
a  poor  sick  patient  of  mine,  who  was  suffering  for 
lack  of  attendance.  The  house  where  she  lived 
was  in  a  lonely  and  desolate  place,  some  two  or 
three  miles  below  us,  on  a  sandy  level,  just  elevated 
above  the  great  salt  marshes,  stretching  far  away 
to  the  sea.  The  night  set  in  dark  and  stormy; 
a  fierce  northeasterly  wind  swept  over  the  level 
waste,  driving  thick  snow-clouds  before  it,  shaking 
the  doors  and  windows  of  the  old  house,  and  roar 
ing  in  its  vast  chimney.  The  woman  was  dying 
when  we  arrived,  and  her  drunken  husband  was 
sitting  in  stupid  unconcern  in  the  corner  of  the  fire 
place.  A  little  after  midnight  she  breathed  her 
last. 

"  In  the  mean  time  the  storm  had  grown  more 
violent ;  there  was  a  blinding  snow-fall  in  the  air ; 
and  we  could  feel  the  jar  of  the  great  waves  as 
they  broke  upon  the  beach. 

"  '  It  is  a  terrible  night  for  sailors  on  the  coast,' 
I  said,  breaking  our  long  silence  with  the  dead. 
4  God  grant  them  sea-room ! ' 

"  Julia  shuddered  as  I  spoke,  and  by  the  dim- 
flashing  firelight  I  saw  she  was  weeping.  Her 


MY  SUMMER   WITH  DR.   SINGLETARY     221 

thoughts,  I  knew,  were  with  her  old  friend  and 
playmate  on  the  wild  waters. 

"  '  Julia,'  said  I,  '  do  you  know  that  Kobert  Bar- 
net  loves  you  with  all  the  strength  of  an  honest 
and  true  heart  ?  ' 

"  She  trembled,  and  her  voice  faltered  as  she 
confessed  that  when  Robert  was  at  home  he  had 
asked  her  to  become  his  wife. 

44 '  And,  like  a  fool,  you  refused  him,  I  suppose  ? 
—  the  brave,  generous  fellow ! ' 

"  '  O  Doctor  ! '  she  exclaimed.  '  How  can  you 
talk  so  ?  It  is  just  because  Robert  is  so  good,  and 
noble,  and  generous,  that  I  dared  not  take  him  at 
his  word.  You  yourself,  Doctor,  would  have  de 
spised  me  if  I  had  taken  advantage  of  his  pity  or 
his  kind  remembrance  of  the  old  days  when  we 
were  children  together.  I  have  already  brought 
too  much  disgrace  upon  those  dear  to  me.' 

"I  was  endeavoring  to  convince  her,  in  reply, 
that  she  was  doing  injustice  to  herself  and  wrong 
ing  her  best  friend,  whose  happiness  depended  in 
a  great  measure  upon  her,  when,  borne  on  the 
strong  blast,  we  both  heard  a  faint  cry  as  of  a 
human  being  in  distress.  I  threw  up  the  window 
which  opened  seaward,  and  we  leaned  out  into  the 
wild  night,  listening  breathlessly  for  a  repetition 
of  the  sound. 

"  Once  more,  and  once  only,  we  heard  it,  —  a 
low,  smothered,  despairing  cry. 

"  '  Some  one  is  lost,  and  perishing  in  the  snow,' 
said  Julia.  '  The  sound  conies  in  the  direction  of 
the  beach  plum-bushes  on  the  side  of  the  marsh. 
Let  us  go  at  once.' 


222  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

"  She  snatched  up  her  hood  and  shawl,  and  was 
already  at  the  door.  I  found  and  lighted  a  lan 
tern  and  soon  overtook  her.  The  snow  was  already 
deep  and  badly  drifted,  and  it  was  with  extreme 
difficulty  that  we  could  force  our  way  against  the 
storm.  We  stopped  often  to  take  breath  and  lis 
ten  ;  but  the  roaring  of  the  wind  and  waves  was 
alone  audible.  At  last  we  reached  a  slightly  el 
evated  spot,  overgrown  with  dwarf  plum-trees, 
whose  branches  were  dimly  visible  above  the  snow. 

" 4  Here,  bring  the  lantern  here  !  '  cried  Julia, 
who  had  strayed  a  few  yards  from  me.  I  hastened 
to  her,  and  found  her  lifting  up  the  body  of  a  man 
who  was  apparently  insensible.  The  rays  of  the 
lantern  fell  full  upon  his  face,  and  we  both,  at  the 
same  instant,  recognized  Robert  Bar  net.  Julia 
did  not  shriek  nor  faint ;  but,  kneeling  in  the 
snow,  and  still  supporting  the  body,  she  turned 
towards  me  a  look  of  earnest  and  fearful  inquiry. 

"  4  Courage  ! '  said  I.  '  He  still  lives.  He  is 
only  overcome  with  fatigue  and  cold.' 

"With  much  difficulty  —  partly  carrying  and 
partly  dragging  him  through  the  snow  —  we  suc 
ceeded  in  getting  him  to  the  house,  where,  in  a 
short  time,  he  so  far  recovered  as  to  be  able  to 
speak.  Julia,  who  had  been  my  prompt  and  effi 
cient  assistant  in  his  restoration,  retired  into  the 
shadow  of  the  room  as  soon  as  he  began  to  rouse 
himself  and  look  about  him.  He  asked  where  he 
was  and  who  was  with  me,  saying  that  his  head 
was  so  confused  that  he  thought  he  saw  Julia 
Atkins  by  the  bedside.  'You  were  not  mistaken,' 
said  I ;  '  Julia  is  here,  and  you  owe  your  life  to 


MY  SUMMER  WITH  DR.  SJNGLETARY     223 

her.'  He  started  up  and  gazed  round  the  room.  I 
beckoned  Julia  to  the  bedside  ;  and  I  shall  never 
forget  the  grateful  earnestness  with  which  he 
grasped  her  hand  and  called  upon  God  to  bless 
her.  Some  folks  think  me  a  tough-hearted  old 
fellow,  and  so  I  am ;  but  that  scene  was  more  than 
I  could  bear  without  shedding  tears. 

"  Robert  told  us  that  his  vessel  had  been  thrown 
upon  the  beach  a  mile  or  two  below,  and  that  he 
feared  all  the  crew  had  perished  save  himself. 
Assured  of  his  safety,  I  went  out  once  more,  in  the 
faint  hope  of  hearing  the  voice  of  some  survivor 
of  the  disaster ;  but  I  listened  only  to  the  heavy 
thunder  of  the  surf  rolling  along  the  horizon  of 
the  east.  The  storm  had  in  a  great  measure  ceased ; 
the  gray  light  of  dawn  was  just  visible;  and  I 
was  gratified  to  see  two  of  the  nearest  neighbors 
approaching  the  house.  On  being  informed  of  the 
wreck  they  immediately  started  for  the  beach, 
where  several  dead  bodies,  half  buried  in  snow, 
confirmed  the  fears  of  the  solitary  survivor. 

"  The  result  of  all  this  you  can  easily  conjecture. 
Robert  Barnet  abandoned  the  sea,  and,  with  the 
aid  of  some  of  his  friends,  purchased  the  farm 
where  he  now  lives,  and  the  anniversary  of  his 
shipwreck  found  him  the  husband  of  Julia.  I  can 
assure  you  I  have  had  every  reason  to  congratu 
late  myself  on  my  share  in  the  match-making. 
Nobody  ventured  to  find  fault  with  it  except  two 
or  three  sour  old  busybodies,  who,  as  Elder  Staples 
well  says,  '  would  have  cursed  her  whom  Christ 
had  forgiven,  and  spurned  the  weeping  Magdalen 
from  the  feet  of  her  Lord.' 


224  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 


CHAPTER  IV. 
BY    THE    SPRING. 

IT  was  one  of  the  very  brightest  and  breeziest 
of  summer  mornings  that  the  Doctor  and  myself 
walked  homeward  from  the  town  poor-house,  where 
he  had  always  one  or  more  patients,  and  where  his 
coming  was  always  welcomed  by  the  poor,  diseased, 
and  age-stricken  inmates.  Dark,  miserable  faces 
of  lonely  and  unreverenced  age,  written  over  with 
the  grim  records  of  sorrow  and  sin,  seemed  to 
brighten  at  his  approach  as  with  an  inward  light, 
as  if  the  good  man's  presence  had  power  to  call 
the  better  natures  of  the  poor  unfortunates  into 
temporary  ascendency.  Weary,  fretful  women  — 
happy  mothers  in  happy  homes,  perchance,  half  a 
century  before  —  felt  their  hearts  warm  and  ex 
pand  under  the  influence  of  his  kind  salutations 
and  the  ever-patient  good-nature  with  which  he 
listened  to  their  reiterated  complaints  of  real  or 
imaginary  suffering.  However  it  might  be  with 
others,  he  never  forgot  the  man  or  the  woman  in 
the  pauper.  There  was  nothing  like  condescension 
or  consciousness  in  his  charitable  ministrations ;  for 
he  was  one  of  the  few  men  I  have  ever  known  in 
whom  the  milk  of  human  kindness  was  never 
soured  by  contempt  for  humanity  in  whatever  form 
it  presented  itself.  Thus  it  was  that  his  faithful 
performance  of  the  duties  of  his  profession,  how 
ever  repulsive  and  disagreeable,  had  the  effect  of 
Murillo's  picture  of  St.  Elizabeth  of  Hungary 


MY  SUMMER  WITH  DR.   SINGLETARY     225 

binding  up  the  ulcered  limbs  of  the  beggars.  The 
moral  beauty  transcended  the  loathsomeness  of 
physical  evil  and  deformity. 

Our  nearest  route  home  lay  across  the  pastures 
and  over  Blueberry  Hill,  just  at  the  foot  of  which 
we  encountered  Elder  Staples  and  Skipper  Evans, 
who  had  been  driving  their  cows  to  pasture,  and 
were  now  leisurely  strolling  back  to  the  village. 
We  toiled  together  up  the  hill  in  the  hot  sunshine, 
and,  just  on  its  eastern  declivity,  were  glad  to  find 
a  white-oak  tree,  leaning  heavily  over  a  little  ra 
vine,  from  the  bottom  of  which  a  clear  spring  of 
water  bubbled  up  and  fed  a  small  rivulet,  whose 
track  of  darker  green  might  be  traced  far  down 
the  hill  to  the  meadow  at  its  foot. 

A  broad  shelf  of  rock  by  the  side  of  the  spring, 
cushioned  with  mosses,  afforded  us  a  comfortable 
resting-place.  Elder  Staples,  in  his  faded  black 
coat  and  white  neck-cloth,  leaned  his  quiet,  contem 
plative  head  on  his  silver-mounted  cane :  right 
opposite  him  sat  the  Doctor,  with  his  sturdy,  rotund 
figure,  and  broad,  seamed  face,  surmounted  by  a 
coarse  stubble  of  iron-gray  hair,  the  sharp  and 
almost  severe  expression  of  his  keen  gray  eyes, 
flashing  under  their  dark  penthouse,  happily  re 
lieved  by  the  softer  lines  of  his  mouth,  indicative 
of  his  really  genial  and  generous  nature.  A  small, 
sinewy  figure,  half  doubled  up,  with  his  chin  rest 
ing  on  his  rough  palms,  Skipper  Evans  sat  on  a 
lower  projection  of  the  rock  just  beneath  him,  in 
an  attentive  attitude,  as  at  the  feet  of  Gamaliel. 
Dark  and  dry  as  one  of  his  own  dunfish  on  a  Lab 
rador  flake,  or  a  seal-skin  in  an  Esquimaux  hut, 


226  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

he  seemed  entirely  exempt  from  one  of  the  great 
trinity  of  temptations  ;  and,  granting  him  a  safe 
deliverance  from  the  world  and  the  devil,  he  had 
very  little  to  fear  from  the  flesh. 

We  were  now  in  the  Doctor's  favorite  place  of 
resort,  green,  cool,  quiet,  and  sightly  withal.  The 
keen  light  revealed  every  object  in  the  long  valley 
below  us  ;  the  fresh  west  wind  fluttered  the  oak- 
leaves  above ;  and  the  low  voice  of  the  water, 
coaxing  or  scolding  its  way  over  bare  roots  or 
mossy  stones,  was  just  audible. 

"  Doctor,"  said  I,  "  this  spring,  with  the  oak 
hanging  over  it,  is,  I  suppose,  your  Fountain  of 
Bandusia.  You  remember  what  Horace  says  of 
his  spring,  which  yielded  such  cool  refreshment 
when  the  dog-star  had  set  the  day  on  fire.  What 
a  fine  picture  he  gives  us  of  this  charming  feature 
of  his  little  farm  !  " 

The  Doctor's  eye  kindled.  "  I  'm  glad  to  see 
you  like  Horace ;  not  merely  as  a  clever  satirist 
and  writer  of  amatory  odes,  but  as  a  true  lover  of 
Nature.  How  pleasant  are  his  simple  and  beauti 
ful  descriptions  of  his  yellow,  flowing  Tiber,  the 
herds  and  herdsmen,  the  harvesters,  the  grape  vin 
tage,  the  varied  aspects  of  his  Sabine  retreat  in  the 
fierce  summer  heats,  or  when  the  snowy  forehead 
of  Soracte  purpled  in  winter  sunsets  !  Scattered 
through  his  odes  and  the  occasional  poems  which 
he  addresses  to  his  city  friends,  you  find  these 
graceful  and  inimitable  touches  of  rural  beauty, 
each  a  picture  in  itself." 

"  It  is  long  since  I  have  looked  at  my  old  school- 
day  companions,  the  classics,"  said  Elder  Staples : 


MY  SUMMER  WITH  DR.    SINGLETARY     227 

"  but  I  remember  Horace  only  as  a  light,  witty, 
careless  epicurean,  famous  for  his  lyrics  in  praise 
of  Falernian  wine  and  questionable  women." 

"  Somewhat  too  much  of  that,  doubtless,"  said 
the  Doctor;  "but  to  me  Horace  is  serious  and 
profoundly  suggestive,  nevertheless.  Had  I  laid 
him  aside  on  quitting  college,  as  you  did,  I  should 
perhaps  have  only  remembered  such  of  his  epi 
curean  lyrics  as  recommended  themselves  to  the 
warm  fancy  of  boyhood.  Ah,  Elder  Staples,  there 
was  a  time  when  the  Lyces  and  Glyceras  of  the 
poet  were  no  fiction  to  us.  They  played  blind- 
man's  buff  with  us  in  the  farmer's  kitchen,  sang 
with  us  in  the  meeting-house,  and  romped  and 
laughed  with  us  at  huskings  and  quilting-parties. 
Grandmothers  and  sober  spinsters  as  they  now 
are,  the  change  in  us  is  perhaps  greater  than  in 
them." 

"  Too  true,"  replied  the  Elder,  the  smile  which 
had  just  played  over  his  pale  face  fading  into  some 
thing  sadder  than  its  habitual  melancholy.  "  The 
living  companions  of  our  youth,  whom  we  daily 
meet,  are  more  strange  to  us  than  the  dead  in  yon 
der  graveyard.  They  alone  remain  unchanged !  " 

"  Speaking  of  Horace,"  continued  the  Doctor, 
in  a  voice  slightly  husky  with  feeling,  "  he  gives 
us  glowing  descriptions  of  his  winter  circles  of 
friends,  where  mirth  and  wine,  music  and  beauty, 
charm  away  the  hours,  and  of  summer-day  recrea 
tions  beneath  the  vine-wedded  elms  of  the  Tiber  or 
on  the  breezy  slopes  of  Soracte  ;  yet  I  seldom  read 
them  without  a  feeling  of  sadness.  A  low  wail 
of  inappeasable  sorrow,  an  undertone  of  dirges, 


228  TALES   AND   SKETCHES 

mingles  with  his  gay  melodies.  His  immediate 
horizon  is  bright  with  sunshine  ;  but  beyond  is  a 
land  of  darkness,  the  light  whereof  is  darkness. 
It  is  walled  about  by  the  everlasting  night.  The 
skeleton  sits  at  his  table ;  a  shadow  of  the  inevi 
table  terror  rests  upon  all  his  pleasant  pictures. 
He  was  without  God  in  the  world  ;  he  had  no  clear 
abiding  hope  of  a  life  beyond  that  which  was  has 
tening  to  a  close.  Eat  and  drink,  he  tells  us ;  en 
joy  present  health  and  competence  ;  alleviate  pres 
ent  evils,  or  forget  them,  in  social  intercourse,  in 
wine,  music,  and  sensual  indulgence  ;  for  to-mor 
row  we  must  die.  Death  was  in  his  view  no  mere 
change  of  condition  and  relation  ;  it  was  the  black 
end  of  all.  It  is  evident  that  he  placed  no  re 
liance  on  the  mythology  of  his  time,  and  that  he 
regarded  the  fables  of  the  Elysian  Fields  and  their 
dim  and  wandering  ghosts  simply  in  the  light  of 
convenient  poetic  fictions  for  illustration  and  im 
agery.  Nothing  can,  in  my  view,  be  sadder  than 
his  attempts  at  consolation  for  the  loss  of  friends. 
Witness  his  Ode  to  Virgil  on  the  death  of  Quin- 
tilius.  He  tells  his  illustrious  friend  simply  that 
his  calamity  is  without  hope,  irretrievable  and 
eternal ;  that  it  is  idle  to  implore  the  gods  to  re 
store  the  dead  ;  and  that,  although  his  lyre  may  be 
more  sweet  than  that  of  Orpheus,  he  cannot  reani 
mate  the  shadow  of  his  friend  nor  persuade  '  the 
ghost-compelling  god '  to  unbar  the  gates  of  death. 
He  urges  patience  as  the  sole  resource.  He 
alludes  not  unfrequently  to  his  own  death  in  the 
same  despairing  tone.  In  the  Ode  to  Torquatus, 
—  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  touching  of  all 


MY  SUMMER   WITH  DR.   SINGLETARY     229 

he  has  written,  —  he  sets  before  his  friend,  in 
melancholy  contrast,  the  return  of  the  seasons,  and 
of  the  moon  renewed  in  brightness,  with  the  end 
of  man,  who  sinks  into  the  endless  dark,  leaving 
nothing  save  ashes  and  shadows.  He  then,  in  the 
true  spirit  of  his  philosophy,  urges  Torquatus  to 
give  his  present  hour  and  wealth  to  pleasures  and 
delights,  as  he  had  no  assurance  of  to-morrow." 

"  In  something  of  the  same  strain,"  said  I, 
44  Moschus  moralizes  on  the  death  of  Bion :  — 

'  Our  trees  and  plants  revive  ;  the  rose 
In  annual  youth  of  beauty  glows  ; 
But  when  the  pride  of  Nature  dies, 
Man,  who  alone  is  great  and  wise, 
No  more  he  rises  into  light, 
The  wakeless  sleeper  of  eternal  night.'  " 

44  It  reminds  me,"  said  Elder  Staples,  "  of  the 
sad  burden  of  Ecclesiastes,  the  mournfulest  book 
of  Scripture ;  because,  while  the  preacher  dwells 
with  earnestness  upon  the  vanity  and  uncertainty 
of  the  things  of  time  and  sense,  he  has  no  apparent 
hope  of  immortality  to  relieve  the  dark  picture. 
Like  Horace,  he  sees  nothing  better  than  to  eat  his 
bread  with  joy  and  drink  his  wine  with  a  merry 
heart.  It  seems  to  me  the  wise  man  might  have 
gone  farther  in  his  enumeration  of  the  folly  and 
emptiness  of  life,  and  pronounced  his  own  pre 
scription  for  the  evil  vanity  also.  What  is  it  but 
plucking  flowers  on  the  banks  of  the  stream  which 
hurries  us  over  the  cataract,  or  feasting  on  the 
thin  crust  of  a  volcano  upon  delicate  meats  pre 
pared  over  the  fires  which  are  soon  to  ingulf  us  ? 
Oh,  what  a  glorious  contrast  to  this  is  the  gospel  of 


280  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

Him  who  brought  to  light  life  and  immortality! 
The  transition  from  the  Koheleth  to  the  Epistles 
of  Paul  is  like  passing  from  a  cavern,  where  the 
artificial  light  falls  indeed  upon  gems  and  crystals, 
but  is  everywhere  circumscribed  and  overshadowed 
by  unknown  and  unexplored  darkness,  into  the 
warm  light  and  free  atmosphere  of  day." 

"  Yet,"  I  asked,  "  are  there  not  times  when  we 
all  wish  for  some  clearer  evidence  of  immortal  life 
than  has  been  afforded  us ;  when  we  even  turn 
away  unsatisfied  from  the  pages  of  the  holy  book, 
with  all  the  mysterious  problems  of  life  pressing 
about  us  and  clamoring  for  solution,  till,  perplexed 
and  darkened,  we  look  up  to  the  still  heavens,  as 
if  we  sought  thence  an  answer,  visible  or  audible, 
to  their  questionings?  We  want  something  be 
yond  the  bare  announcement  of  the  momentous 
fact  of  a  future  life  ;  we  long  for  a  miracle  to  con 
firm  our  weak  faith  and  silence  forever  the  doubts 
which  torment  us." 

"  And  what  would  a  miracle  avail  us  at  such 
times  of  darkness  and  strong  temptation?"  said 
the  Elder.  "  Have  we  not  been  told  that  they 
whom  Moses  and  the  prophets  have  failed  to  con 
vince  would  not  believe  although  one  rose  from  the 
dead  ?  That  God  has  revealed  no  more  to  us  is 
to  my  mind  sufficient  evidence  that  He  has  revealed 
enough." 

"May  it  not  be,"  queried  the  Doctor,  "that 
Infinite  Wisdom  sees  that  a  clearer  and  fuller 
revelation  of  the  future  life  would  render  us  less 
willing  or  able  to  perform  our  appropriate  duties 
in  the  present  condition  ?  Enchanted  by  a  clear 


MY  SUMMER   WITH  DR.  SINGLETARY     231 

view  of  the  heavenly  hills,  and  of  our  loved  ones 
beckoning  us  from  the  pearl  gates  of  the  city  of 
God,  could  we  patiently  work  out  our  life-task  here, 
or  make  the  necessary  exertions  to  provide  for  the 
wants  of  these  bodies  whose  encumbrance  alone 
can  prevent  us  from  rising  to  a  higher  plane  of 
existence  ?  " 

"  I  reckon,"  said  the  Skipper,  who  had  been  an 
attentive,  although  at  times  evidently  a  puzzled, 
listener,  "  that  it  would  be  with  us  pretty  much 
as  it  was  with  a  crew  of  French  sailors  that  I  once 
shipped  at  the  Isle  of  France  for  the  port  of  Mar 
seilles.  I  never  had  better  hands  until  we  hove  in 
sight  of  their  native  country,  which  they  had  n't 
seen  for  years.  The  first  look  of  the  land  set  'em 
all  crazy ;  they  danced,  laughed,  shouted,  put  on 
their  best  clothes ;  and  I  had  to  get  new  hands  to 
help  me  bring  the  vessel  to  her  moorings." 

"  Your  story  is  quite  to  the  point,  Skipper," 
said  the  Doctor.  "If  things  had  been  ordered 
differently,  we  should  all,  I  fear,  be  disposed  to 
quit  work  and  fall  into  absurdities,  like  your 
French  sailors,  and  so  fail  of  bringing  the  world 
fairly  into  port." 

"  God's  ways  are  best,"  said  the  Elder;  "  and  I 
don't  see  as  we  can  do  better  than  to  submit  with 
reverence  to  the  very  small  part  of  them  which  He 
has  made  known  to  us,  and  to  trust  Him  like  loving 
and  dutiful  children  for  the  rest." 


232  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

CHAPTER  V. 
THE    HILLSIDE. 

THE  pause  which  naturally  followed  the  obser 
vation  of  the  Elder  was  broken  abruptly  by  the 
Skipper. 

"  Hillo  !  "  he  cried,  pointing  with  the  glazed  hat 
with  which  lie  had  been  fanning  himself.  "  Here 
away  in  the  northeast.  Going  down  the  coast  for 
better  fishing,  I  guess." 

"  An  eagle,  as  I  live !  "  exclaimed  the  Doctor, 
following  with  his  cane  the  direction  of  the  Skip 
per's  hat.  "  Just  see  how  royally  he  wheels  up 
ward  and  onward,  his  sail-broad  wings  stretched 
motionless,  save  an  occasional  flap  to  keep  up  his 
impetus !  Look !  the  circle  in  which  he  moves 
grows  narrower ;  he  is  a  gray  cloud  in  the  sky,  a 
point,  a  mere  speck  or  dust-mote.  And  now  he  is 
clean  swallowed  up  in  the  distance.  The  wise 
man  of  old  did  well  to  confess  his  ignorance  of 
*  the  way  of  an  eagle  in  the  air.' ' 

"  The  eagle,"  said  Elder  Staples,  "  seems  to 
have  been  a  favorite  illustration  of  the  sacred  pen 
man.  '  They  that  wait  upon  the  Lord  shall  renew 
their  strength  ;  they  shall  mount  upward  as  on  the 
wings  of  an  eagle.' ' 

"  What  think  you  of  this  passage  ?  "  said  the 
Doctor.  " '  As  when  a  bird  hath  flown  through 
the  air,  there  is  no  token  of  her  way  to  be  found  ; 
but  the  light  air,  beaten  with  the  stroke  of  her 
wings  and  parted  by  the  violent  noise  and  motion 


MY  SUMMER  WITH  DR.   SINGLETARY     233 

thereof,  is  passed  through,  and  therein  afterward 
no  sign  of  her  path  can  be  found.'  ' 

"  I  don't  remember  the  passage,"  said  the  Elder. 

"  I  dare  say  not,"  quoth  the  Doctor.  "  You 
clergymen  take  it  for  granted  that  no  good  thing 
can  come  home  from  the  Nazareth  of  the  Apocry 
pha.  But  where  will  you  find  anything  more 
beautiful  and  cheering  than  these  verses  in  con 
nection  with  that  which  I  just  cited  ?  —  '  The  hope 
of  the  ungodly  is  like  dust  that  is  blown  away  by 
the  wind ;  like  the  thin  foam  which  is  driven  by 
the  storm ;  like  the  smoke  which  is  scattered  here 
and  there  by  the  whirlwind ;  it  passeth  away  like 
the  remembrance  of  a  guest  that  tarrieth  but  a  day. 
But  the  righteous  live  forevermore  ;  their  reward 
also  is  with  the  Lord,  and  the  care  of  them  with 
the  Most  High.  Therefore  shall  they  receive  a 
glorious  kingdom  and  a  beautiful  crown  from  the 
Lord's  hand  ;  for  with  his  right  hand  shall  He 
cover  them,  and  with  his  arm  shall  He  protect 
them.' " 

"  That,  if  I  mistake  not,  is  from  the  Wisdom  of 
Solomon,"  said  the  Elder.  "  It  is  a  striking  pas 
sage  ;  and  there  are  many  such  in  the  uncanonical 
books." 

"  Canonical  or  not,"  answered  the  Doctor,  "  it 
is  God's  truth,  and  stands  in  no  need  of  the  in 
dorsement  of  a  set  of  well-meaning  but  purblind 
bigots  and  pedants,  who  presumed  to  set  metes  and 
bounds  to  Divine  inspiration,  and  decide  by  vote 
what  is  God's  truth  and  what  is  the  Devil's  false 
hood.  But,  speaking  of  eagles,  I  never  see  one  of 
these  spiteful  old  sea-robbers  without  fancying  that 


234  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

he  may  be  the  soul  of  a  mad  Viking  of  the  middle 
centuries.  Depend  upon  it,  that  Italian  philoso 
pher  was  not  far  out  of  the  way  in  his  ingenious 
speculations  upon  the  affinities  and  sympathies  ex 
isting  between  certain  men  and  certain  animals, 
and  in  fancying  that  he  saw  feline  or  canine  traita 
and  similitudes  in  the  countenances  of  his  acquaint 
ance." 

"  Swedenborg  tells  us,"  said  I,  "  that  lost  human 
souls  in  the  spiritual  world,  as  seen  by  the  angels, 
frequently  wear  the  outward  shapes  of  the  lower 
animals,  —  for  instance,  the  gross  and  sensual  look 
like  swine,  and  the  cruel  and  obscene  like  foul 
birds  of  prey,  such  as  hawks  and  vultures,  —  and 
that  they  are  entirely  unconscious  of  the  metamor 
phosis,  imagining  themselves  4  marvellous  proper 
men,'  and  are  quite  well  satisfied  with  their  com 
pany  and  condition." 

"  Swedenborg,"  said  the  Elder,  "  was  an  insane 


man,  or  worse." 


"  Perhaps  so,"  said  the  Doctor  ;  "  but  there  is  a 
great  deal  of  '  method  in  his  madness,'  and  plain 
common  sense  too.  There  is  one  grand  and  beauti 
ful  idea  underlying  all  his  revelations  or  specula 
tions  about  the  future  life.  It  is  this :  that  each 
spirit  chooses  its  own  society,  and  naturally  finds 
its  fitting  place  and  sphere  of  action,  —  following 
in  the  new  life,  as  in  the  present,  the  leading  of  its 
prevailing  loves  and  desires,  —  and  that  hence 
none  are  arbitrarily  compelled  to  be  good  or  evil, 
happy  or  miserable.  A  great  law  of  attraction 
and  gravitation  governs  the  spiritual  as  well  as  the 
material  universe ;  but,  in  obeying  it,  the  spirit 


MY  SUMMER   WITH  DR.   SINGLETARY     235 

retains  in  the  new  life  whatever  freedom  of  will  it 
possessed  in  its  first  stage  of  being.  But  I  see  the 
Elder  shakes  his  head,  as  much  as  to  say,  I  am 
'  wise  above  what  is  written,'  or,  at  any  rate,  med 
dling  with  matters  beyond  my  comprehension.  Our 
young  friend  here,"  he  continued,  turning  to  me, 
"  has  the  appearance  of  a  listener ;  but  I  suspect 
he  is  busy  with  his  own  reveries,  or  enjoying  the 
fresh  sights  and  sounds  of  this  fine  morning.  I 
doubt  whether  our  discourse  has  edified  him." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  I ;  "  I  was,  indeed,  listening 
to  another  and  older  oracle." 

"  Well,  tell  us  what  you  hear,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"  A  faint,  low  murmur,  rising  and  falling  on 
the  wind.  Now  it  comes  rolling  in  upon  me,  wave 
after  wave  of  sweet,  solemn  music.  There  was  a 
grand  organ  swell ;  and  now  it  dies  away  as  into 
the  infinite  distance  ;  but  I  still  hear  it,  —  whether 
with  ear  or  spirit  I  know  not,  —  the  very  ghost  of 
sound." 

"  Ah,  yes,"  said  the  Doctor  ;  "  I  understand  it ; 
it  is  the  voice  of  the  pines  yonder,  —  a  sort  of 
morning  song  of  praise  to  the  Giver  of  life  and 
Maker  of  beauty.  My  ear  is  dull  now,  and  I  can 
not  hear  it ;  but  I  know  it  is  sounding  on  as  it  did 
when  I  first  climbed  up  here  in  the  bright  June 
mornings  of  boyhood,  and  it  will  sound  on  just  the 
same  when  the  deafness  of  the  grave  shall  settle 
Tipon  my  failing  senses.  Did  it  never  occur  to  you 
that  this  deafness  and  blindness  to  accustomed 
beauty  and  harmony  is  one  of  the  saddest  thoughts 
connected  with  the  great  change  which  awaits  us  ? 
Have  you  not  felt  at  times  that  our  ordinary  con- 


236  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

ceptions  of  heaven  itself,  derived  from  the  vague 
hints  and  Oriental  imagery  of  the  Scriptures,  are 
sadly  inadequate  to  our  human  wants  and  hopes  ? 
How  gladly  would  we  forego  the  golden  streets 
and  gates  of  pearl,  the  thrones,  temples,  and  harps, 
for  the  sunset  lights  of  our  native  valleys ;  the 
woodpaths,  whose  moss  carpets  are  woven  with 
violets  and  wild  flowers  ;  the  songs  of  birds,  the 
low  of  cattle,  the  hum  of  bees  in  the  apple-blos 
som,  —  the  sweet,  familiar  voices  of  human  life 
and  nature!  In  the  place  of  strange  splendors 
and  unknown  music,  should  we  not  welcome  rather 
whatever  reminded  us  of  the  common  sights  and 
sounds  of  our  old  home  ?  " 

"  You  touch  a  sad  chord,  Doctor,"  said  I. 
"  Would  that  we  could  feel  assured  of  the  eternity 
of  all  we  love  !  " 

"  And  have  I  not  an  assurance  of  it  at  this  very 
moment  ?  "  returned  the  Doctor.  "  My  outward 
ear  fails  me ;  yet  I  seem  to  hear  as  formerly  the 
sound  of  the  wind  in  the  pines.  I  close  my  eyes ; 
and  the  picture  of  my  home  is  still  before  me.  I 
see  the  green  hill  slope  and  meadows ;  the  white 
shaft  of  the  village  steeple  springing  up  from  the 
midst  of  maples  and  elms  ;  the  river  all  afire  with 
sunshine  ;  the  broad,  dark  belt  of  woodland  ;  and, 
away  beyond,  all  the  blue  level  of  the  ocean.  And 
now,  by  a  single  effort  of  will,  I  can  call  before  me 
a  winter  picture  of  the  same  scene.  It  is  morn 
ing  as  now;  but  how  different!  All  night  has 
the  white  meteor  fallen,  in  broad  flake  or  minutest 
crystal,  the  sport  and  plaything  of  winds  that 
have  wrought  it  into  a  thousand  shapes  of  wild 


MY  SUMMER   WITH  DR.   S1NGLETARY     237 

beauty.  Hill  and  valley,  tree  and  fence,  woodshed 
and  well  -  sweep,  barn  and  pigsty,  fishing  -  smacks 
frozen  up  at  the  wharf,  ribbed  monsters  of  dis 
mantled  hulks  scattered  along  the  river-side,  —  all 
lie  transfigured  in  the  white  glory  and  sunshine. 
The  eye,  wherever  it  turns,  aches  with  the  cold 
brilliance,  unrelieved  save  where  the  blue  smoke 
of  morning  fires  curls  lazily  up  from  the  Parian 
roofs,  or  where  the  main  channel  of  the  river,  as 
yet  unfrozen,  shows  its  long  winding  line  of  dark 
water  glistening  like  a  snake  in  the  sun.  Thus 
you  perceive  that  the  spirit  sees  and  hears  without 
the  aid  of  bodily  organs ;  and  why  may  it  not  be 
so  hereafter  ?  Grant  but  memory  to  us,  and  we 
can  lose  nothing  by  death.  The  scenes  now  pass 
ing  before  us  will  live  in  eternal  reproduction, 
created  anew  at  will.  We  assuredly  shall  not  love 
heaven  the  less  that  it  is  separated  by  no  impass 
able  gulf  from  this  fair  and  goodly  earth,  and 
that  the  pleasant  pictures  of  time  linger  like  sun 
set  clouds  along  the  horizon  of  eternity.  When  I 
was  younger,  I  used  to  be  greatly  troubled  by  the 
insecure  tenure  by  which  my  senses  held  the  beauty 
and  harmony  of  the  outward  world.  When  I 
looked  at  the  moonlight  on  the  water,  or  the  cloud- 
shadows  on  the  hills,  or  the  sunset  sky,  with  the 
tall,  black  tree-boles  and  waving  foliage  relieved 
against  it,  or  when  I  heard  a  mellow  gush  of  music 
from  the  brown-breasted  fife-bird  in  the  summer 
woods,  or  the  merry  quaver  of  the  bobolink  in 
the  corn  land,  the  thought  of  an  eternal  loss  of 
these  familiar  sights  and  sounds  would  sometimes 
thrill  through  me  with  a  sharp  and  bitter  pain.  I 


238  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

have  reason  to  thank  God  that  this  fear  no  longer 
troubles  me.  Nothing  that  is  really  valuable  and 
necessary  for  us  can  ever  be  lost.  The  present 
will  live  hereafter  ;  memory  will  bridge  over  the 
gulf  between  the  two  worlds  ;  for  only  on  the  con 
dition  of  their  intimate  union  can  we  preserve  our 
identity  and  personal  consciousness.  Blot  out  the 
memory  of  this  world,  and  what  would  heaven  or 
hell  be  to  us  ?  Nothing  whatever.  Death  would 
be  simple  annihilation  of  our  actual  selves,  and  the 
substitution  therefor  of  a  new  creation,  in  which 
we  should  have  no  more  interest  than  in  an  inhabi 
tant  of  Jupiter  or  the  fixed  stars." 

The  Elder,  who  had  listened  silently  thus  far, 
not  without  an  occasional  and  apparently  involun 
tary  manifestation  of  dissent,  here  interposed. 

"  Pardon  me,  my  dear  friend,"  said  he  ;  "  but  I 
must  needs  say  that  I  look  upon  speculations  of 
this  kind,  however  ingenious  or  plausible,  as  un 
profitable,  and  wellnigh  presumptuous.  For  my 
self,  I  only  know  that  I  am  a  weak,  sinful  man, 
accountable  to  and  cared  for  by  a  just  and  merci 
ful  God.  What  He  has  in  reserve  for  me  hereafter 
I  know  not,  nor  have  I  any  warrant  to  pry  into 
His  secrets.  I  do  not  know  what  it  is  to  pass  from 
one  life  to  another;  but  I  humbly  hope  that,  when 
I  am  sinking  in  the  dark  waters,  I  may  hear  His 
voice  of  compassion  and  encouragement,  'It  is  I ; 
be  not  afraid.'  " 

"  Amen,"  said  the  Skipper,  solemnly. 

"  I  dare  say  the  Parson  is  right,  in  the  main," 
said  the  Doctor.  "  Poor  creatures  at  the  best,  it 
is  safer  for  us  to  trust,  like  children,  in  the  good- 


MY  SLIMMER  WITH  DR.   S1NGLETARY     239 

ness  of  our  Heavenly  Father  than  to  speculate  too 
curiously  in  respect  to  the  things  of  a  future  life  ; 
and,  notwithstanding  all  I  have  said,  I  quite  agree 
with  good  old  Bishop  Hall :  '  It  is  enough  for  me 
to  rest  in  the  hope  that  I  shall  one  day  see  them ; 
in  the  mean  time,  let  me  be  learnedly  ignorant  and 
incuriously  devout,  silently  blessing  the  power  and 
wisdom  of  my  infinite  Creator,  who  knows  how  to 
honor  himself  by  all  those  unrevealed  and  glorious 
subordinations.' ' 


CHAPTER  VI. 
THE  SKIPPER'S  STORY. 

"  WELL,  what 's  the  news  below  ?  "  asked  the 
Doctor  of  his  housekeeper,  as  she  came  home  from 
a  gossiping  visit  to  the  landing  one  afternoon. 
"  What  new  piece  of  scandal  is  afloat  now  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  except  what  concerns  yourself,"  an 
swered  Widow  Matson,  tartly.  "Mrs.  Nugeon 
says  that  you  've  been  to  see  her  neighbor  Wait's 
girl  —  she  that 's  sick  with  the  measles  —  half  a 
dozen  times,  and  never  so  much  as  left  a  spoonful 
of  medicine  ;  and  she  should  like  to  know  what 
a  doctor 's  good  for  without  physic.  Besides,  she 
says  Lieutenant  Brown  would  have  got  well  if 
you'd  minded  her,  and  let  him  have  plenty  of 
thoroughwort  tea,  and  put  a  split  fowl  at  the  pit 
of  his  stomach." 

"  A  split  stick  on  her  own  tongue  would  be  bet 
ter,"  said  the  Doctor,  with  a  wicked  grimace. 


240  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

"  The  Jezebel !  Let  her  look  out  for  herself  the 
next  time  she  gets  the  rheumatism  ;  I  '11  blister  her 
from  head  to  heel.  But  what  else  is  going  ?  " 

"  The  schooner  Polly  Pike  is  at  the  landing." 

"  What,  from  Labrador?  The  one  Tom  Osborne 
went  in?" 

"  I  suppose  so  ;  I  met  Tom  down  street." 

"  Good ! "  said  the  Doctor,  with  emphasis. 
"Poor  Widow  Osborne's  prayers  are  answered, 
and  she  will  see  her  son  before  she  dies." 

"  And  precious  little  good  will  it  do  her,"  said 
the  housekeeper.  "  There 's  not  a  more  drunken, 
swearing  rakeshame  in  town  than  Tom  Osborne." 

"  It 's  too  true,"  responded  the  Doctor.  "  But 
he  's  her  only  son ;  and  you  know,  Mrs.  Matson, 
the  heart  of  a  mother." 

The  widow's  hard  face  softened  ;  a  tender  shadow 
passed  over  it ;  the  memory  of  some  old  bereave 
ment  melted  her;  and  as  she  passed  into  the 
house  I  saw  her  put  her  checked  apron  to  her 
eyes. 

By  this  time  Skipper  Evans,  who  had  been 
slowly  working  his  way  up  street  for  some  minutes, 
had  reached  the  gate. 

"  Look  here !  "  said  he.  "  Here 's  a  letter  that 
I  've  got  by  the  Polly  Pike  from  one  of  your  old 
patients  that  you  gave  over  for  a  dead  man  long 
ago." 

"  From  the  other  world,  of  course,"  said  the 
Doctor. 

"  No,  not  exactly,  though  it 's  from  Labrador, 
which  is  about  the  last  place  the  Lord  made,  I 
reckon." 


MY  SUMMER  WITH  DR.    SINGLETARY     241 

"  What,  from  Dick  Wilson  ?  " 

"  Sartin,"  said  the  Skipper. 

"And  how  is  he?" 

"  Alive  and  hearty.  I  tell  you  what,  Doctor, 
physicking  and  blistering  are  all  well  enough,  may 
be ;  but  if  you  want  to  set  a  fellow  up  when  he  's 
kinder  run  down,  there 's  nothing  like  a  fishing 
trip  to  Labrador,  'specially  if  he  's  been  bothering 
himself  with  studying,  and  writing,  and  such  like. 
There  's  nothing  like  fish  chowders,  hard  bunks, 
and  sea  fog  to  take  that  nonsense  out  of  him. 
Now,  this  chap,"  (the  Skipper  here  gave  me  a 
thrust  in  the  ribs  by  way  of  designation,)  "  if  I 
could  have  him  down  with  me  beyond  sunset  for 
two  or  three  months,  would  come  back  as  hearty 
as  a  Bay  o'  Fundy  porpoise." 

Assuring  him  that  I  would  like  to  try  the  ex 
periment,  with  him  as  skipper,  I  begged  to  know 
the  history  of  the  case  he  had  spoken  of. 

The  old  fisherman  smiled  complacently,  hitched 
up  his  pantaloons,  took  a  seat  beside  us,  and,  after 
extracting  a  jack-knife  from  one  pocket,  and  a  hand 
of  tobacco  from  the  other,  and  deliberately  sup 
plying  himself  with  a  fresh  quid,  he  mentioned, 
apologetically,  that  he  supposed  the  Doctor  had 
heard  it  all  before. 

"  Yes,  twenty  times,"  said  the  Doctor ;  "  but 
never  mind ;  it 's  a  good  story  yet.  Go  ahead, 
Skipper." 

"  Well,  you  see,"  said  the  Skipper,  "  this  young 
Wilson  comes  down  here  from  Hanover  College, 
in  the  spring,  as  lean  as  a  shad  in  dog-days.  He 
had  studied  himself  half  blind,  and  all  his  blood 


242  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

had  got  into  brains.  So  the  Doctor  tried  to  help 
him  with  his  poticary  stuff,  and  the  women  with 
their  herbs ;  but  all  did  no  good.  At  last  some 
body  advised  him  to  try  a  fishing  cruise  down  East ; 
and  so  he  persuaded  me  to  take  him  aboard  my 
schooner.  I  knew  he  'd  be  right  in  the  way,  and 
poor  company  at  the  best,  for  all  his  Greek  and 
Latin  ;  for,  as  a  general  thing,  I  Ve  noticed  that 
your  college  chaps  swop  away  their  common  sense 
for  their  laming,  and  make  a  mighty  poor  bargain 
of  it.  Well,  he  brought  his  books  with  him,  and 
stuck  to  them  so  close  that  I  was  afraid  we  should 
have  to  slide  him  off  the  plank  before  we  got  half 
way  to  Labrador.  So  I  just  told  him  plainly  that 
it  would  n't  do,  and  that  if  he  'd  a  mind  to  kill 
himself  ashore  I  'd  no  objection,  but  he  should  n't 
do  it  aboard  my  schooner.  '  I  'm  e'en  just  a  mind,' 
says  I,  '  to  pitch  your  books  overboard.  A  fishing 
vessel 's  no  place  for  'em ;  they  '11  spoil  all  our 
luck.  Don't  go  to  making  a  Jonah  of  yourself 
down  here  in  your  bunk,  but  get  upon  deck,  and 
let  your  books  alone,  and  go  to  watching  the  sea, 
and  the  clouds,  and  the  islands,  and  the  fog-banks, 
and  the  fishes,  and  the  birds  ;  for  Natur,'  says  I, 
fc  don't  lie  nor  give  hearsays,  but  is  always  as  true 
as  the  Gospels.' 

"  But 't  was  no  use  talking.  There  he  'd  lay  in 
his  bunk  with  his  books  about  him,  and  I  had  e'en 
a'most  to  drag  him  on  deck  to  snuff  the  sea-air. 
Howsomever,  one  day,  —  it  was  the  hottest  of  the 
whole  season,  —  after  we  left  the  Magdalenes,  and 
were  running  down  the  Gut  of  Canso,  we  hove  in 
sight  of  the  Gannet  Rocks.  Thinks  I  to  myself, 


MY  SUMMER  WITH  DR.    SINGLETARY     243 

I  '11  show  him  something  now  that  he  can't  find  in 
his  books.  So  I  goes  right  down  after  him;  and 
when  we  got  on  deck  he  looked  towards  the  north 
east,  and  if  ever  I  saw  a  chap  wonder-struck,  he 
was.  Right  ahead  of  us  was  a  bold,  rocky  island, 
with  what  looked  like  a  great  snow-bank  on  its 
southern  slope ;  while  the  air  was  full  overhead, 
and  all  about,  of  what  seemed  a  heavy  fall  of  snow. 
The  day  was  blazing  hot,  and  there  was  n't  a  cloud 
to  be  seen. 

"  4  What  in  the  world,  Skipper,  does  this  mean  ? ' 
says  he.  '  We  're  sailing  right  into  a  snow-storm 
in  dog-days  and  in  a  clear  sky.' 

"  By  this  time  we  had  got  near  enough  to  hear 
a  great  rushing  noise  in  the  air,  every  moment 
growing  louder  and  louder. 

"  4  It 's  only  a  storm  of  gannets,'  says  I. 

"  '  Sure  enough ! '  says  he  ;  4  but  I  would  n't 
have  believed  it  possible.' 

"  When  we  got  fairly  off  against  the  island  I 
fired  a  gun  at  it :  and  such  a  fluttering  and  scream 
ing  you  can't  imagine.  The  great  snow-banks 
shook,  trembled,  loosened,  and  became  all  alive, 
whirling  away  into  the  air  like  drifts  in  a  nor'- 
wester.  Millions  of  birds  went  up,  wheeling  and 
zigzagging  about,  their  white  bodies  and  black- 
tipped  wings  crossing  and  recrossing  and  mixing 
together  into  a  thick  grayish-white  haze  above  us. 

"  '  You  're  right,  Skipper,'  says  Wilson  to  me ; 
4  Nature  is  better  than  books.' 

"  And  from  that  time  he  was  on  deck  as  much 
as  his  health  would  allow  of,  and  took  a  deal  of 
notice  of  everything  new  and  uncommon.  But, 


244  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

for  all  that,  the  poor  fellow  was  so  sick,  and  pale, 
and  peaking,  that  we  all  thought  we  should  have 
to  heave  him  overboard  some  day  or  burv  him  in 
Labrador  mo—. 

"  But  he  did  n't  die  after  all,  did  he  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Die  ?     Xo  :  "  cried  the  Skipper ;  "  not  he  !  " 

"  And  so  your  fishing  voyage  really  cured  him  ?  " 

44  I  can't  say  as  it  did,  exactly,"  returned  the 
Skipper,  shifting  his  quid  from  one  cheek  to  the 
other,  with  a  sly  wink  at  the  Doctor.  "  The  fact 
is,  after  the  doctors  and  the  old  herb-women  had 
given  him  up  at  home,  he  got  cured  by  a  little 
black-eyed  French  girl  on  the  Labrador  coa-t." 

"  A  very  agreeable  prescription,  no  doubt," 
quoth  the  Doctor,  turning  to  me.  "  How  do  you 
think  it  would  suit  your  case  ?  '" 

44  It  does  n't  become  the  patient  to  choose  his 
own  nostrums,"  said  I,  laughing.  "  But  I  wonder, 
Doctor,  that  you  have  n't  long  ago  tested  the  value 
of  this  by  an  experiment  upon  yourself." 

"Physicians  are  proverbially  shy  of  their  own 
medicines,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  you  see,"  continued  the  Skipper,  44  we 
had  a  rough  run  down  the  Labrador  shore ;  rain 
storms  and  fogs  so  thick  you  could  cut  'em  up  into 
junks  with  your  jack-knife.  At  last  we  reached  a 
small  fishing  station  away  down  where  the  sun 
does  n't  sleep  in  summer,  but  just  takes  a  bit  of  a 
nap  at  midnight.  Here  Wilson  went  ashore,  more 
dead  than  alive,  and  found  comfortable  lodgings 
with  a  little,  dingy  French  oil  merchant,  who  had 
a  snug,  warm  house,  and  a  garden  patch,  where  he 
raised  a  few  potatoes  and  turnips  in  the  short  sum- 


MY  SL'MMER    WITH  DR.    SIXGLETARY     245 

mers,  and  a  tolerable  field  of  grass,  which  kept  his 
two  cows  alive  through  the  winter.  The  country 
all  about  was  dismal  enough ;  as  far  as  you  could 
see  there  was  nothing  but  nioss,  and  rocks,  and 
bare  hills,  and  ponds  of  shallow  water,  with  now 
and  then  a  patch  of  stunted  firs.  But  it  doubtless 
looked  pleasant  to  our  poor  sick  passenger,  who 
for  some  days  had  been  longing  for  land.  The 
Frenchman  gave  him  a  neat  little  room  looking 
out  on  the  harbor,  all  alive  with  fishermen  and  In 
dians  hunting  seals ;  and  to  my  notion  no  place 
is  very  dull  where  you  can  see  the  salt-water  and 
the  ships  at  anchor  on  it,  or  scudding  over  it 
with  sails  set  in  a  stiff  breeze,  and  wThere  you  can 
watch  its  changes  of  lights  and  colors  in  fair  and 
foul  weather,  morning  and  night.  The  family 
was  made  up  of  the  Frenchman,  his  wife,  and  his 
daughter,  —  a  little  witch  of  a  girl,  with  bright 
black  eyes  lighting  up  her  brown,  good-natured 
face  like  lamps  in  a  binnacle.  They  all  took  a 
mighty  liking  to  young  Wilson,  and  were  ready  to 
do  anything  for  him.  He  was  soon  able  to  walk 
about ;  and  we  used  to  see  him  with  the  French 
man's  daughter  strolling  along  the  shore  and 
among  the  mosses,  talking  with  her  in  her  own 
language.  Many  and  many  a  time,  as  we  sat  in 
our  boats  under  the  rocks,  we  could  hear  her 
merry  laugh  ringing  down  to  us. 

"  We  stayed  at  the  station  about  three  weeks  ; 
and  when  we  got  ready  to  sail  I  called  at  the 
Frenchman's  to  let  Wilson  know  when  to  come 
aboard.  He  really  seemed  sorry  to  leave  ;  for  the 
two  old  people  urged  him  to  remain  with  them, 


246  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

and  poor  little  Lucille  would  n't  hear  a  word  of  his 
going.  She  said  he  would  be  sick  and  die  on 
board  the  vessel,  but  that  if  he  stayed  with  them  he 
would  soon  be  well  and  strong ;  that  they  should 
have  plenty  of  milk  and  eggs  for  him  in  the  win 
ter;  and  he  should  ride  in  the  dog-sledge  with 
her,  and  she  would  take  care  of  him  as  if  he  was 
her  brother.  She  hid  his  cap  and  great-coat ;  and 
what  with  crying,  and  scolding,  and  coaxing,  she 
fairly  carried  her  point. 

" '  You  see  I  'm  a  prisoner,'  says  he  ;  '  they 
won't  let  me  go.' 

"  '  Well,'  says  I,  c  you  don't  seem  to  be  troubled 
about  it.  I  tell  you  what,  young  man,'  says  I,  4  it 's 
mighty  pretty  now  to  stroll  round  here,  and  pick 
mosses,  and  hunt  birds'  eggs  with  that  gal ;  but 
wait  till  November  comes,  and  everything  freezes 
up  stiff  and  dead  except  white  bears  and  Ingens, 
and  there 's  no  daylight  left  to  speak  of,  and  you  '11 
be  sick  enough  of  your  choice.  You  won't  live  the 
winter  out ;  and  it 's  an  awful  place  to  die  in, 
where  the  ground  freezes  so  hard  that  they  can't 
bury  you.' 

"  4  Lucille  says,'  says  he,  '  that  God  is  as  near 
us  in  the  winter  as  in  the  summer.  The  fact  is, 
Skipper,  I've  no  nearer  relative  left  in  the  States 
than  a  married  brother,  who  thinks  more  of  his 
family  and  business  than  of  me ;  and  if  it  is  God's 
will  that  I  shall  die,  I  may  as  well  wait  His  call 
here  as  anywhere.  I  have  found  kind  friends 
here ;  they  will  do  all  they  can  for  me ;  and  for 
the  rest  I  trust  Providence.' 

"  Lucille  begged  that  I  would  let  him  stay ;  for 


MY  SUMMER  WITH  DR.   SINGLETARY     247 

she  said  God  would  hear  her  prayers,  and  he  would 
get  well.  I  told  her  I  would  n't  urge  him  any 
more ;  for  if  I  was  as  young  as  he  was,  and  had 
such  a  pretty  nurse  to  take  care  of  me,  I  should  be 
willing  to  winter  at  the  North  Pole.  Wilson  gave 
me  a  letter  for  his  brother ;  and  we  shook  hands, 
and  I  left  him.  When  we  were  getting  under 
way  he  and  Lucille  stood  on  the  landing-place, 
and  I  hailed  him  for  the  last  time,  and  made  signs 
of  sending  the  boat  for  him.  The  little  French 
girl  understood  me;  she  shook  her  head,  and 
pointed  to  her  father's  house ;  and  then  they  both 
turned  back,  now  and  then  stopping  to  wave  their 
handkerchiefs  to  us.  I  felt  sorry  to  leave  him 
there ;  but  for  the  life  of  me  I  could  n't  blame 
him." 

"I'm  sure  I  don't,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"  Well,  next  year  I  was  at  Nitisquain  Harbor ; 
and,  although  I  was  doing  pretty  well  in  the  way 
of  fishing,  I  could  n't  feel  easy  without  running 
away  north  to  'Brador  to  see  what  had  become  of 
my  sick  passenger.  It  was  rather  early  in  the 
season,  and  there  was  ice  still  in  the  harbor  ;  but 
we  managed  to  work  in  at  last ;  when  who  should  I 
see  on  shore  but  young  Wilson,  so  stout  and  hearty 
that  I  should  scarcely  have  known  him.  He  took 
me  up  to  his  lodgings  and  told  me  that  he  had 
never  spent  a  happier  winter  ;  that  he  was  well 
and  strong,  and  could  fish  and  hunt  like  a  native ; 
that  he  was  now  a  partner  with  the  Frenchman  in 
trade,  and  only  waited  the  coming  of  the  priest 
from  the  Magdalenes,  on  his  yearly  visit  to  the 
settlements,  to  marry  his  daughter.  Lucille  was 


248  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

as  pretty,  merry,  and  happy  as  ever ;  and  the  old 
Frenchman  and  his  wife  seemed  to  love  Wilson  as 
if  he  was  their  son.  I  Ve  never  seen  him  since ; 
but  he  now  writes  me  that  he  is  married,  and  has 
prospered  in  health  and  property,  and  thinks 
Labrador  would  be  the  finest  country  in  the  world 
if  it  only  had  heavy  timber-trees." 

"One  cannot  but  admire,"  said  the  Doctor, 
"  that  wise  and  beneficent  ordination  of  Providence 
whereby  the  spirit  of  man  asserts  its  power  over 
circumstances,  moulding  the  rough  forms  of  mat 
ter  to  its  fine  ideal,  bringing  harmony  out  of  dis 
cord,  —  coloring,  warming,  and  lighting  up  every 
thing  within  the  circle  of  its  horizon.  A  loving 
heart  carries  with  it,  under  every  parallel  of  lati 
tude,  the  warmth  and  light  of  the  tropics.  It 
plants  its  Eden  in  the  wilderness  and  solitary 
place,  and  sows  with  flowers  the  gray  desolation  of 
rocks  and  mosses.  Wherever  love  goes,  there 
springs  the  true  heart* s-ease,  rooting  itself  even 
in  the  polar  ices.  To  the  young  invalid  of  the 
Skipper's  story,  the  dreary  waste  of  what  Moore 
calls,  as  you  remember, 

'  the  dismal  shore 
Of  cold  and  pitiless  Labrador,' 

looked  beautiful  and  inviting ;  for  he  saw  it  soft 
ened  and  irradiated  in  an  atmosphere  of  love.  Its 
bare  hills,  bleak  rocks,  and  misty  sky  were  but 
the  setting  and  background  of  the  sweetest  picture 
in  the  gallery  of  life.  Apart  from  this,  however, 
in  Labrador,  as  in  every  conceivable  locality,  the 
evils  of  soil  and  climate  have  their  compensations 
and  alleviations.  The  long  nights  of  winter  are 


MY  SUMMER  WITH  DR.   SINGLETARY     249 

brilliant  with  moonlight,  and  the  changing  colors 
of  the  northern  lights  are  reflected  on  the  snow. 
The  summer  of  Labrador  has  a  beauty  of  its  own, 
far  unlike  that  of  more  genial  climates,  but  which 
its  inhabitants  would  not  forego  for  the  warm  life 
and  lavish  luxuriance  of  tropical  landscapes.  The 
dwarf  fir-trees  throw  from  the  ends  of  their 
branches  yellow  tufts  of  stamina,  like  small  lamps 
decorating  green  pyramids  for  the  festival  of 
spring ;  and  if  green  grass  is  in  a  great  measure 
wanting,  its  place  is  supplied  by  delicate  mosses  of 
the  most  brilliant  colors.  The  truth  is,  every  sea 
son  and  climate  has  its  peculiar  beauties  and  com 
forts  ;  the  footprints  of  the  good  and  merciful  God 
are  found  everywhere  ;  and  we  should  be  willing 
thankfully  to  own  that  '  He  has  made  all  things 
beautiful  in  their  time '  if  we  were  not  a  race  of 
envious,  selfish,  ungrateful  grumblers." 

"  Doctor !  Doctor !  "  cried  a  ragged,  dirty-faced 
boy,  running  breathless  into  the  yard. 

"  What 's  the  matter,  my  lad  ?  "  said  the  Doctor. 

"  Mother  wants  you  to  come  right  over  to  our 
house.  Father  's  tumbled  off  the  hay-cart ;  and 
when  they  got  him  up  he  didn't  know  nothing; 
but  they  gin  him  some  rum,  and  that  kinder 
brought  him  to." 

"  No  doubt,  no  doubt,"  said  the  Doctor,  rising 
to  go.  "  Similia  similibus  curantur.  Nothing 
like  hair  of  the  dog  that  bites  you." 

"The  Doctor  talks  well,"  said  the  Skipper,  who 
had  listened  rather  dubiously  to  his  friend's  com 
mentaries  on  his  story ;  "  but  he  carries  too  much 
sail  for  me  sometimes,  and  I  can't  exactly  keep 


250  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

alongside  of  him.  I  told  Elder  Staples  once  that 
I  did  n't  see  but  that  the  Doctor  could  beat  him 
at  preaching.  '  Very  likely,'  says  the  Elder,  says 
he ;  '  for  you  know,  Skipper,  I  must  stick  to  my 
text ;  but  the  Doctor's  Bible  is  all  creation.'  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Elder,  who  had  joined  us  a  few 
moments  before,  "  the  Doctor  takes  a  wide  range, 
or,  as  the  farmers  say,  carries  a  wide  swath,  and 
has  some  notions  of  things  which  in  my  view  have 
as  little  foundation  in  true  philosophy  as  they  have 
warrant  in  Scripture ;  but,  if  he  sometimes  specu 
lates  falsely,  he  lives  truly,  which  is  by  far  the 
most  important  matter.  The  mere  dead  letter  of  a 
creed,  however  carefully  preserved  and  reverently 
cherished,  may  be  of  no  more  spiritual  or  moral 
efficacy  than  an  African  fetish  or  an  Indian  medi 
cine-bag.  What  we  want  is,  orthodoxy  in  prac 
tice,  —  the  dry  bones  clothed  with  warm,  generous, 
holy  life.  It  is  one  thing  to  hold  fast  the  robust 
faith  of  our  fathers,  —  the  creed  of  the  freedom- 
loving  Puritan  and  Huguenot,  —  and  quite  another 
to  set  up  the  five  points  of  Calvinism,  like  so  many 
thunder-rods,  over  a  bad  life,  in  the  insane  hope 
of  averting  the  Divine  displeasure  from  sin." 


THE  LITTLE  IRON  SOLDIEE ; 

OR,  WHAT  AMINADAB  IVISON  DREAMED  ABOUT. 

AMINADAB  IVISON  started  up  in  his  bed.  The 
great  clock  at  the  head  of  the  staircase,  an  old  and 
respected  heirloom  of  the  family,  struck  one. 

"  Ah,"  said  he,  heaving  up  a  great  sigh  from  the 
depths  of  his  inner  man,  "  I  've  had  a  tried  time 
of  it." 

"  And  so  have  I,"  said  the  wife.  "  Thee  's  been 
kicking  and  threshing  about  all  night.  I  do  won 
der  what  ails  thee." 

And  well  she  might ;  for  her  husband,  a  well-to- 
do,  portly,  middle-aged  gentleman,  being  blessed 
with  an  easy  conscience,  a  genial  temper,  and  a 
comfortable  digestion,  was  able  to  bear  a  great  deal 
of  sleep,  and  seldom  varied  a  note  in  the  gamut  of 
his  snore  from  one  year's  end  to  another. 

"  A  very  remarkable  exercise,"  soliloquized 
Aminadab ;  "  very." 

"  Dear  me !  what  was  it  ?  "  inquired  his  wife. 

"  It  must  have  been  a  dream,"  said  Aminadab. 

u  Oh,  is  that  all  ?  "  returned  the  good  woman. 
"  I  'm  glad  it 's  nothing  worse.  But  what  has  thee 
been  dreaming  about  ?  " 

"  It  's  the  strangest  thing,  Hannah,  that  thee 
ever  heard  of,"  said  Aminadab,  settling  himself 


252  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

slowly  back  into  his  bed.  Thee  recollects  Jones 
sent  me  yesterday  a  sample  of  castings  from  the 
foundry.  Well.  I  thought  I  opened  the  box  and 
found  in  it  a  little  iron  man,  in  regimentals  ;  with 
his  sword  by  his  side  and  a  cocked  hat  on,  looking 
very  much  like  the  picture  in  the  transparency 
over  neighbor  O'Xeal's  oyster-cellar  across  the  waye 
I  thought  it  rather  out  of  place  for  Jones  to  fur 
nish  me  with  such  a  sample,  as  I  should  not  feel 
easy  to  show  it  to  my  customers,  on  account  of  its 
warlike  appearance.  However,  as  the  work  was 
well  done,  I  took  the  little  image  and  set  him  up 
on  the  table,  against  the  wall;  and,  sitting  down 
opposite,  I  began  to  think  over  my  business  con 
cerns,  calculating  how  much  they  would  increase  in 
profit  in  case  a  tariff  man  should  be  chosen  our 
ruler  for  the  next  four  years.  Thee  knows  I  am 
not  in  favor  of  choosing  men  of  blood  and  strife 
to  bear  rule  in  the  land :  but  it  nevertheless  seems 
proper  to  consider  all  the  circumstances  in  this 
case,  and,  as  one  or  the  other  of  the  candidates  of 
the  two  great  parties  must  be  chosen,  to  take  the 
least  of  two  evils.  All  at  once  I  heard  a  smart, 
quick  tapping  on  the  table ;  and,  looking  up,  there 
stood  the  little  iron  man  close  at  my  elbow,  wink 
ing  and  chuckling.  '  That's  right,  Aminadab ! '  said 
he,  clapping  his  little  metal  hands  together  till  he 
rang  over  like  a  bell, ;  take  the  least  of  two  evils.' 
His  voice  had  a  sharp,  clear,  jingling  sound,  like 
that  of  silver  dollars  falling  into  a  till.  It  startled 
me  so  that  I  woke  up,  but  finding  it  only  a  dream 
presently  fell  asleep  again.  Then  I  thought  I  was 
down  in  the  Exchange,  talking  with  neighbor  Sim- 


IRON  SOLDIER  253 


kins  about  the  election  and  the  tariff.  '  I  want  a 
change  in  the  administration,  but  I  can't  vote  for 
a  military  chieftain,'  said  neighbor  Simkins,  "  as  I 
look  upon  it  unbecoming  a  Christian  people  to 
elect  men  of  blood  for  their  rulers.'  4  1  don't 
know,'  said  I,  '  what  objection  thee  can  have  to  a 
fighting  man  ;  for  thee  's  no  Friend,  and  has  n't  any 
conscientious  scruples  against  military  matters. 
For  my  own  part,  I  do  not  take  much  interest  in 
politics,  and  never  attended  a  caucus  in  my  life,  be 
lieving  it  best  to  keep  very  much  in  the  quiet,  and 
avoid,  as  far  as  possible,  all  letting  and  hindering 
things  ;  but  there  may  be  cases  where  a  military 
man  may  be  voted  for  as  a  choice  of  evils,  and  as  a 
means  of  promoting  the  prosperity  of  the  country 
in  business  matters.'  4  What  !  '  said  neighbor  Sim- 
kins,  4  are  you  going  to  vote  for  a  man  whose  whole 
life  has  been  spent  in  killing  people  ?  '  This  vexed 
me  a  little,  and  I  told  him  there  was  such  a  thing 
as  carrying  a  good  principle  too  far,  and  that  he 
might  live  to  be  sorry  that  he  had  thrown  away  his 
vote,  instead  of  using  it  discreetly.  4  Why,  there  's 
the  iron  business,'  said  I  ;  but  just  then  I  heard  a 
clatter  beside  me,  and,  looking  round,  there  was 
the  little  iron  soldier  clapping  his  hands  in  great 
glee.  k  That  's  it,  Aminadab  !  '  said  he  ;  4  business 
first,  conscience  afterwards!  Keep  up  the  price 
of  iron  with  peace  if  you  can,  but  keep  it  up  at 
any  rate.'  This  waked  me  again  in  a  good  deal 
of  trouble  ;  but,  remembering  that  it  is  said  that 
1  dreams  come  of  the  multitude  of  business,'  I  once 
more  composed  myself  to  sleep." 

"  Well,  what  happened  next  ?  "  asked  his  wife. 


254  TALES   AND   SKETCHES 

"  Why,  I  thought  I  was  in  the  meeting-house, 
sitting  on  the  facing-seat  as  usual.  I  tried  hard 
to  settle  my  mind  down  into  a  quiet  and  humble 
state ;  but  somehow  the  cares  of  the  world  got  up 
permost,  and,  before  I  was  well  aware  of  it,  I  was 
far  gone  in  a  calculation  of  the  chances  of  the 
election,  and  the  probable  rise  in  the  price  of  iron 
in  the  event  of  the  choice  of  a  President  favorable 
to  a  high  tariff.  Rap,  tap,  went  something  on  the 
floor.  I  opened  my  eyes,  and  there  was  the  lit 
tle  image,  red-hot,  as  if  just  out  of  the  furnace, 
dancing,  and  chuckling,  and  clapping  his  hands. 
4  That 's  right,  Aminadab  !  '  said  he  ;  '  go  on  as 
you  have  begun;  take  care  of  yourself  in  this 
world,  and  I  '11  promise  you  you  '11  be  taken  care 
of  in  the  next.  Peace  and  poverty,  or  war  and 
money.  It 's  a  choice  of  evils  at  best ;  and  here 's 
Scripture  to  decide  the  matter  :  "  Be  not  righteous 
overmuch."  Then  the  wicked-looking  little  image 
twisted  his  hot  lips,  and  leered  at  me  with  his 
blazing  eyes,  and  chuckled  and  laughed  with  a 
noise  exactly  as  if  a  bag  of  dollars  had  been  poured 
out  upon  the  meeting-house  floor.  This  waked  me 
just  now  in  such  a  fright.  I  wish  thee  would  tell 
me,  Hannah,  what  thee  can  make  of  these  three 
dreams?  " 

"  It  don't  need  a  Daniel  to  interpret  them,"  an 
swered  Hannah.  "  Thee  's  been  thinking  of  voting 
for  a  wicked  old  soldier,  because  thee  cares  more 
for  thy  iron  business  than  for  thy  testimony 
against  wars  and  fightings.  I  don't  a  bit  wonder 
at  thy  seeing  the  iron  soldier  thee  tells  of ;  and 
if  thee  votes  to-morrow  for  a  man  of  blood,  it 


THE   LITTLE   IRON  SOLDIER  255 

would  n't  be  strange  if  he  should  haunt  thee  all 
thy  life." 

Aminadab  Ivison  was  silent,  for  his  conscience 
spoke  in  the  words  of  his  wife.  He  slept  no  more 
that  night,  and  rose  up  in  the  morning  a  wiser  and 
better  man. 

When  he  went  forth  to  his  place  of  business  he 
saw  the  crowds  hurrying  to  and  fro ;  there  were 
banners  flying  across  the  streets,  huge  placards 
were  on  the  walls,  and  he  heard  all  about  him  the 
bustle  of  the  great  election. 

"  Friend  Ivison,"  said  a  red-faced  lawyer,  almost 
breathless  with  his  hurry,  "  more  money  is  needed 
in  the  second  ward ;  our  committees  are  doing  a 
great  work  there.  AVhat  shall  I  put  you  down  for  ? 
Fifty  dollars?  If  we  carry  the  election,  your 
property  will  rise  twenty  per  cent.  Let  me  see ; 
you  are  in  the  iron  business,  I  think  ?  " 

Aminadab  thought  of  the  little  iron  soldier  of 
his  dream,  and  excused  himself.  Presently  a  bank 
director  came  tearing  into  his  office. 

"  Have  you  voted  yet,  Mr.  Ivison  ?  It 's  time 
to  get  your  vote  in.  I  wonder  you  should  be  in 
your  office  now.  No  business  has  so  much  at 
stake  in  this  election  as  yours." 

"  I  don't  think  I  should  feel  entirely  easy  to  vote 
for  the  candidate,"  said  Aminadab. 

"  Mr.  Ivison,"  said  the  bank  director,  "  I  always 
took  you  to  be  a  shrewd,  sensible  man,  taking  men 
and  things  as  they  are.  The  candidate  may  not 
be  all  you  could  wish  for ;  but  when  the  question 
is  between  him  and  a  worse  man,  the  best  you  can 
do  is  to  choose  the  least  of  the  two  evils." 


256  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

"  Just  so  the  little  iron  man  said,"  thought 
Aminadab.  "  4  Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan  ! '  No, 
neighbor  Discount,"  said  he,  "  I  've  made  up  my 
mind.  I  see  no  warrant  for  choosing  evil  at  all. 
I  can't  vote  for  that  man." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  director,  starting  to  leave 
the  room ;  "  you  can  do  as  you  please ;  but  if  we 
are  defeated  through  the  ill-timed  scruples  of  your 
self  and  others,  and  your  business  pinches  in  con 
sequence,  you  need  n't  expect  us  to  help  men  who 
won't  help  themselves.  Good  day,  sir." 

Aminadab  sighed  heavily,  and  his  heart  sank 
within  him ;  but  he  thought  of  his  dream,  and  re 
mained  steadfast.  Presently  he  heard  heavy  steps 
and  the  tapping  of  a  cane  on  the  stairs ;  and  as  the 
door  opened  he  saw  the  drab  surtout  of  the  worthy 
and  much-esteemed  friend  who  sat  beside  him  at 
the  head  of  the  meeting. 

"  How 's  thee  do,  Aminadab  ?  "  said  he.  "  Thee  's 
voted,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  No,  Jacob,"  said  he ;  "I  don't  like  the  candi 
date.  I  can't  see  my  way  clear  to  vote  for  a  war 
rior." 

"  Well,  but  thee  does  n't  vote  for  him  because 
he  is  a  warrior,  Aminadab,"  argued  the  other ; 
"  thee  votes  for  him  as  a  tariff  man  and  an  en- 
courager  of  home  industry.  I  don't  like  his  wars 
and  fightings  better  than  thee  does  ;  but  I  'm  told 
he  's  an  honest  man,  and  that  he  disapproves  of 
war  in  the  abstract,  although  he  has  been  brought 
up  to  the  business.  If  thee  feels  tender  about  the 
matter,  I  don't  like  to  urge  thee  ;  but  it  really 
seems  to  me  thee  had  better  vote.  Times  have 


THE  LITTLE  IRON  SOLDIER  257 

been  rather  hard,  thou  knows  ;  and  if  by  voting 
at  this  election  we  can  make  business  matters 
easier,  I  don't  see  how  we  can  justify  ourselves  in 
staying  at  home.  Thou  knows  we  have  a  command 
to  be  diligent  in  business  as  well  as  fervent  in 
spirit,  and  that  the  Apostle  accounted  him  who 
provided  not  for  his  own  household  worse  than  an 
infidel.  I  think  it  important  to  maintain  on  all 
proper  occasions  our  Gospel  testimony  against  wars 
and  fightings ;  but  there  is  such  a  thing  as  going 
to  extremes,  thou  knows,  and  becoming  over-scru 
pulous,  as  I  think  thou  art  in  this  case.  It  is  said, 
thou  knows,  in  Ecclesiastes,  4Be  not  righteous 
overmuch  :  why  shouldst  thou  destroy  thyself  ?  ' ' 

"  Ah,"  said  Aminadab  to  himself,  "  that 's  what 
the  little  iron  soldier  said  in  meeting."  So  he  was 
strengthened  in  his  resolution,  and  the  persuasions 
of  his  friend  were  lost  upon  him. 

At  night  Aminadab  sat  by  his  parlor  fire,  com 
fortable  alike  in  his  inner  and  his  outer  man. 
"  Well,  Hannah,"  said  he,  "  I  've  taken  thy  advice. 
I  did  n't  vote  for  the  great  fighter  to-day." 

"  I  'm  glad  of  it,"  said  the  good  woman,  "  and  I 
dare  say  thee  feels  the  better  for  it." 

Aminadab  Ivison  slept  soundly  that  night,  and 
saw  no  more  of  the  little  iron  soldier. 


PASSACONAWAY. 

[1833.] 

I  know  not,  I  ask  not,  what  guilt 's  in  thy  heart, 
But  I  feel  that  I  love  thee,  whatever  thou  art. 

MOORE. 

THE  township  of  Haverhill,  on  the  Merrimac, 
contained,  in  the  autumn  of  1641,  the  second  year 
of  its  settlement,  but  six  dwelling-houses,  situated 
near  each  other,  on  the  site  of  the  present  village. 
They  were  hastily  constructed  of  rude  logs,  small 
and  inconvenient,  but  one  remove  from  the  habita 
tions  of  the  native  dwellers  of  the  wilderness. 
Around  each  a  small  opening  had  been  made 
through  the  thick  forest,  down  to  the  margin  of  the 
river,  where,  amidst  the  charred  and  frequent 
stumps  and  fragments  of  fallen  trees,  the  first 
attempts  at  cultivation  had  been  made.  A  few 
small  patches  of  Indian  corn,  which  had  now 
nearly  reached  maturity,  exhibited  their  thick  ears 
and  tasselled  stalks,  bleached  by  the  frost  and  sun 
shine  ;  and,  here  and  there  a  spot  of  yellow  stub 
ble,  still  lingering  among  the  rough  incumbrances 
of  the  soil,  told  where  a  scanty  crop  of  common 
English  grain  had  been  recently  gathered.  Traces 
of  some  of  the  earlier  vegetables  were  perceptible, 
the  melon,  the  pea,  and  the  bean.  The  pumpkin 
lay  ripening  on  its  frosted  vines,  its  sunny  side 
already  changed  to  a  bright  golden  color  ;  and  the 
turnip  spread  out  its  green  mat  of  leaves  in  defi- 


PA  SSA  CON  A  WA  Y  259 

ance  of  the  season.     Everything  around  realized 
the  vivid  picture  of  Bryant's  Emigrant,  who 

"  Hewed  the  dark  old  woods  away, 
And  gave  the  virgin  fields  to  the  day  : 
And  the  pea  and  the  bean  beside  the  door 
Bloomed  where  such  flowers  ne'er  bloomed  before  ; 
And  the  maize  stood  up,  and  the  bearded  rye 
Bent  low  in  the  breath  of  an  unknown  sky. ' ' 

Beyond,  extended  the  great  forest,  vast,  limit 
less,  unexplored,  whose  venerable  trees  had  hith 
erto  bowed  only  to  the  presence  of  the  storm,  the 
beaver's  tooth,  and  the  axe  of  Time,  working  in 
the  melancholy  silence  of  natural  decay.  Before 
the  dwellings  of  the  white  adventurers,  the  broad 
Merrimac  rolled  quietly  onward  the  piled-up  foli 
age  of  its  shores,  rich  with  the  hues  of  a  New 
England  autumn.  The  first  sharp  frosts,  the  avant 
couriers  of  approaching  winter,  had  fallen,  and 
the  whole  wilderness  was  in  blossom.  It  was  like 
some  vivid  picture  of  Claude  Lorraine,  crowded 
with  his  sunsets  and  rainbows,  a  natural  kaleido 
scope  of  a  thousand  colors.  The  oak  upon  the 
hillside  stood  robed  in  summer's  greenness,  in  strong 
contrast  with  the  topaz-colored  walnut.  The  hem 
lock  brooded  gloomily  in  the  lowlands,  forming, 
with  its  unbroken  mass  of  shadow,  a  dark  back 
ground  for  the  light  maple  beside  it,  bright  with 
its  peculiar  beauty.  The  solemn  shadows  of  the 
pine  rose  high  in  the  hazy  atmosphere,  checkered, 
here  and  there,  with  the  pale  yellow  of  the  birch. 

"  Truly,  Alice,  this  is  one  of  God's  great  mar 
vels  in  the  wilderness,"  said  John  Ward,  the 
minister,  and  the  original  projector  of  the  settle 
ment,  to  his  young  wife,  as  they  stood  in  the  door 


260  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

of  their  humble  dwelling.  "  This  would  be  a  rare 
sight  for  our  friends  in  old  Haverhill.  The  wood 
all  about  us  hath,  to  my  sight,  the  hues  of  the 
rainbow,  when,  in  the  words  of  the  wise  man,  it 
compasseth  the  heavens  as  with  a  circle,  and  the 
hands  of  the  Most  High  have  bended  it.  Very 
beautifully  hath  He  indeed  garnished  the  excellent 
works  of  His  wisdom." 

"  Yea,  John,"  answered  Alice,  in  her  soft 
womanly  tone ;  "  the  Lord  is,  indeed,  no  respecter 
of  persons.  He  hath  given  the  wild  savages  a 
more  goodly  show  than  any  in  Old  England.  Yet, 
John,  I  am  sometimes  very  sorrowful,  when  I 
think  of  our  old  home,  of  the  little  parlor  where 
you  and  I  used  to  sit  of  a  Sunday  evening.  The 
Lord  hath  been  very  bountiful  to  this  land,  and  it 
may  be  said  of  us,  as  it  was  said  of  Israel  of  old, 
1  How  goodly  are  thy  tents,  O  Jacob !  and  thy  taber 
nacles,  O  Israel ! '  But  the  people  sit  in  darkness, 
and  the  Gentiles  know  not  the  God  of  our  fathers." 

"  Nay,"  answered  her  husband,  "  the  heathen 
may  be  visited  and  redeemed,  the  spirit  of  the 
Lord  may  turn  unto  the  Gentiles ;  but  a  more  sure 
evil  hath  arisen  among  us.  I  tell  thee,  Alice,  it 
shall  be  more  tolerable  in  the  day  of  the  Lord,  for 
the  Tyre  and  Sidon,  the  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  of 
the  heathen,  than  for  the  schemers,  the  ranters,  the 
Familists,  and  the  Quakers,  who,  like  Satan  of  old, 
are  coming  among  the  sons  of  God." 

"  I  thought,"  said  Alice,  "  that  our  godly  gov 
ernor  had  banished  these  out  of  the  colony." 

"Truly  he  hath,"  answered  Mr.  Ward,  "but 
the  evil  seed  they  have  sown  here  continues  to 


PA  SSA  CON  A  WA  Y  261 

spring  up  and  multiply.  The  Quakers  have,  in 
deed,  nearly  ceased  to  molest  us ;  but  another  set 
of  fanatics,  headed  by  Samuel  Gorton,  have  of  late 
been  very  troublesome.  Their  family  has  been 
broken  up,  and  the  ring-leaders  have  been  sen 
tenced  to  be  kept  at  hard  labor  for  the  colony's 
benefit;  one  being  allotted  to  each  of  the  old 
towns,  where  they  are  forbidden  to  speak  on  mat 
ters  of  religion.  But  there  are  said  to  be  many 
still  at  large,  who,  under  the  encouragement  of  the 
arch-heretic,  Williams,  of  the  Providence  planta 
tion,  are  even  now  zealously  doing  the  evil  work  of 
their  master.  But,  Alice,"  he  continued,  as  he 
saw  his  few  neighbors  gathering  around  a  vener 
able  oak  which  had  been  spared  in  the  centre  of 
the  clearing,  "  it  is  now  near  our  time  of  worship. 
Let  us  join  our  friends." 

And  the  minister  and  his  wife  entered  into  the 
little  circle  of  their  neighbors.  No  house  of  wor 
ship,  with  spire  and  tower,  and  decorated  pulpit, 
had  as  yet  been  reared  on  the  banks  of  the  Merri- 
rnac.  The  stern  settlers  came  together  under  the 
open  heavens,  or  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  old 
trees,  to  kneel  before  that  God,  whose  works  and 
manifestations  were  around  them. 

The  exercises  of  the  Sabbath  commenced.  A 
psalm  of  the  old  and  homely  version  was  sung, 
with  true  feeling,  if  not  with  a  perfect  regard  to 
musical  effect  and  harmony.  The  brief  but  fer 
vent  prayer  was  offered,  and  the  good  man  had 
just  announced  the  text  for  his  sermon,  when  a 
sudden  tramp  of  feet,  and  a  confused  murmur  of 
human  voices,  fell  on  the  ears  of  the  assembly. 


262  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

The  minister  closed  his  Bible ;  and  the  whole 
group  crowded  closer  together.  "It  is  surely  a 
war  party  of  the  heathen,"  said  Mr.  Ward,  as  he 
listened  intently  to  the  approaching  sound.  "  God 
grant  they  mean  us  no  evil !  " 

The  sounds  drew  nearer.  The  swarthy  figure 
of  an  Indian  came  gliding  through  the  brush-wood 
into  the  clearing,  followed  closely  by  several  Eng 
lishmen.  In  answer  to  the  eager  inquiries  of  Mr. 
Ward,  Captain  Eaton,  the  leader  of  the  party, 
stated  that  he  had  left  Boston  at  the  command  of 
Governor  Winthrop,  to  secure  and  disarm  the 
sachem,  Passaconaway,  who  was  suspected  of  hos 
tile  intentions  towards  the  whites.  They  had 
missed  of  the  old  chief,  but  had  captured  his  son, 
and  were  taking  him  to  the  governor  as  a  hostage 
for  the  good  faith  of  his  father.  He  then  pro 
ceeded  to  inform  Mr.  Ward,  that  letters  had  been 
received  from  the  governor  of  the  settlements  of 
Good  Hoop  and  Piquag,  in  Connecticut,  giving 
timely  warning  of  a  most  diabolical  plot  of  the 
Indians  to  cut  off  their  white  neighbors,  root  and 
branch.  He.  pointed  out  to  the  notice  of  the  min 
ister  a  member  of  his  party  as  one  of  the  messen 
gers  who  had  brought  this  alarming  intelligence. 

He  was  a  tall,  lean  man,  with  straight,  lank, 
sandy  hair,  cut  evenly  all  around  his  narrow  fore 
head,  and  hanging  down  so  as  to  remind  one  of 
Smollett's  apt  similitude  of  "  a  pound  of  candles." 

"  What  news  do  you  bring  us  of  the  savages  ?  " 
inquired  Mr.  Ward. 

"  The  people  have  sinned,  and  the  heathen  are 
the  instruments  whereby  the  Lord  hath  willed  to 


PA  SSA  CON  A  WA  Y  263 

chastise  them,"  said  the  messenger,  with  that  pecul 
iar  nasal  inflection  of  voice,  so  characteristic  of 
the  "  unco'  guid."  "  The  great  sachem,  Mianto- 
nimo,  chief  of  the  Narragansetts,  hath  plotted  to 
cut  off  the  Lord's  people,  just  after  the  time  of 
harvest,  to  slay  utterly  old  and  young,  both  maids 
and  little  children." 

"  How  have  ye  known  this  ?  "  asked  the  minister. 

"  Even  as  Paul  knew  of  those  who  had  bound 
themselves  together  with  a  grievous  oath  to  de 
stroy  him.  The  Lord  hath  done  it.  One  of  the 
bloody  heathens  was  dreadfully  gored  by  the  oxen 
of  our  people,  and,  being  in  great  bodily  pain  and 
tribulation  thereat,  he  sent  for  Governor  Haines, 
and  told  him  that  the  Englishman's  god  was  angry 
with  him  for  concealing  the  plot  to  kill  his  people, 
and  had  sent  the  Englishman's  cow  to  kill  him." 

"  Truly  a  marvellous  providence,"  said  Mr. 
Ward ;  "  but  what  has  been  done  in  your  settle 
ments  in  consequence  of  it  ?  " 

"  We  have  fasted  many  days,"  returned  the 
other,  in  a  tone  of  great  solemnity,  "  and  our  godly 
men  have  besought  the  Lord  that  he  might  now, 
as  of  old,  rebuke  Satan.  They  have,  moreover, 
diligently  and  earnestly  inquired,  Whence  cometh 
this  evil  ?  Who  is  the  Achan  in  the  camp  of  our 
Israel?  It  hath  been  greatly  feared  that  the 
Quakers  and  the  Papists  have  been  sowing  tares 
in  the  garden  of  the  true  worship.  We  have  there 
fore  banished  these  on  pain  of  death ;  and  have 
made  it  highly  penal  for  any  man  to  furnish  either 
food  or  lodging  to  any  of  these  heretics  and  idol 
aters.  We  have  ordered  a  more  strict  observance 


264  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

of  the  Sabbath  of  the  Lord,  no  one  being  per 
mitted  to  walk  or  run  on  that  day,  except  to  and 
from  public  worship,  and  then,  only  in  a  reverent 
and  becoming  manner ;  and  no  one  is  allowed  to 
cook  food,  sweep  the  house,  shave  or  pare  the  nails, 
or  kiss  a  child,  on  the  day  which  is  to  be  kept 
holy.  We  have  also  framed  many  wholesome  laws, 
against  the  vanity  and  licentiousness  of  the  age,  in 
respect  to  apparel  and  deportment,  and  have  for 
bidden  any  young  man  to  kiss  a  maid  during  the 
time  of  courtship,  as,  to  their  shame  be  it  said,  is 
the  manner  of  many  in  the  old  lands." 

"  Ye  have,  indeed,  done  well  for  the  spiritual," 
said  Mr.  Ward ;  "  what  have  you  done  for  your 
temporal  defence  ?  " 

"  We  have  our  garrisons  and  our  captains,  and 
a  goodly  store  of  carnal  weapons,"  answered  the 
other.  "And,  besides,  we  have  the  good  chief 
Uncas,  of  the  Mohegans,  to  help  us  against  the 
bloody  Narragan setts." 

"  But,  my  friend,"  said  the  minister,  addressing 
Captain  Eaton,  "there  must  be  surely  some  mis 
take  about  Passaconaway.  I  verily  believe  him  to 
be  the  friend  of  the  white  men.  And  this  is  his 
son  Wonolanset?  I  saw  him  last  year,  and  re 
member  that  he  was  the  pride  of  the  old  savage, 
his  father.  I  will  speak  to  him,  for  I  know  some 
thing  of  his  barbarous  tongue." 

"  Wonolanset !  " 

The  young  savage  started  suddenly  at  the  word, 
and  rolled  his  keen  bright  eye  upon  the  speaker. 

"  Why  is  the  son  of  the  great  chief  bound  by  my 
brothers  ?  " 


PA  SSA  CON  A  WA  Y  265 

The  Indian  looked  one  instant  upon  the  cords 
which  confined  his  arms,  and  then  glanced  fiercely 
upon  his  conductors. 

"  Has  the  great  chief  forgotten  his  white  friends  ? 
"Will  he  send  his  young  men  to  take  their  scalps 
when  the  Narragansett  bids  him  ?  " 

The  growl  of  the  young  bear  when  roused  from 
his  hiding-place  is  not  more  fierce  and  threatening 
than  were  the  harsh  tones  of  Wonolanset  as  he  ut 
tered  through  his  clenched  teeth  :  — 

"  Nummus  quantum." 

"  Nay,  nay,"  said  Mr.  Ward,  turning  away  from 
the  savage,  "  his  heart  is  full  of  bitterness ;  he  says 
he  is  angry,  and,  verily,  I  like  not  his  bearing.  I 
fear  me  there  is  evil  on  foot.  But  ye  have  travelled 
far,  and  must  needs  be  weary ;  rest  yourselves 
awhile,  and  haply,  while  ye  refresh  your  bodies,  I 
may  also  refresh  your  spirits  with  wholesome  and 
comfortable  doctrines." 

The  party  having  acquiesced  in  this  proposal, 
their  captive  was  secured  by  fastening  one  end 
of  his  rope  to  a  projecting  branch  of  the  tree. 
The  minister  again  named  his  text,  but  had  only 
proceeded  to  the  minuter  divisions  of  his  sermon, 
when  he  was  again  interrupted  by  a  loud,  clear 
whistle  from  the  river,  and  a  sudden  exclamation  of 
surprise  from  those  around  him.  A  single  glance 
sufficed  to  show  him  the  Indian,  disengaged  from 
his  rope,  and  in  full  retreat. 

Eaton  raised  his  rifle  to  his  eye,  and  called  out 
to  the  young  sachem,  in  his  own  language,  to  stop, 
or  he  would  fire  upon  him.  The  Indian  evidently 
understood  the  full  extent  of  his  danger.  He 


266  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

turned  suddenly  about,  and,  pointing  up  the  river 
towards  the  dwelling  of  his  father,  pronounced  with 
a  threatening  gesture  :  — 

"  Nosh,  Passaconaway !  " 

"  Hold !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Ward,  grasping  the 
arm  of  Eaton.  "  He  threatens  us  with  his  father's 
vengeance.  For  God's  sake  keep  your  fire !  "  It 
was  too  late.  The  report  of  the  rifle  broke  sharply 
upon  the  Sabbath  stillness.  It  was  answered  by  a 
shout  from  the  river,  and  a  small  canoe,  rowed  by 
an  Indian  and  a  white  man,  was  seen  darting  along 
the  shore.  Wonolanset  bounded  on  unharmed, 
and,  plunging  into  the  river,  he  soon  reached  the 
canoe,  which  was  hastily  paddled  to  the  opposite 
bank.  Captain  Eaton  and  his  party  finding  it 
impossible  to  retake  their  prisoner,  after  listening 
to  the  sermon  of  Mr.  Ward,  and  partaking  of 
some  bodily  refreshment,  took  their  leave  of  the 
settlers  of  Pentucket,  and  departed  for  Boston. 

The  evening,  which  followed  the  day  whose 
events  we  have  narrated,  was  one  of  those  peculiar 
seasons  of  beauty  when  the  climate  of  New  England 
seems  preferable  to  that  of  Italy.  The  sun  went 
down  in  the  soft  haze  of  the  horizon,  while  the  full 
moon  was  rising  at  the  same  time  in  the  east.  Its 
mellow  silver  mingled  with  the  deep  gold  of  the 
sunset.  The  south-west  wind,  as  warm  as  that  of 
summer,  but  softer,  was  heard,  at  long  intervals, 
faintly  harping  amidst  the  pines,  and  blending  its 
low  sighing  with  the  lulling  murmurs  of  the  river. 
The  inhabitants  of  Pentucket  had  taken  the  pre 
caution,  as  night  came  on,  to  load  their  muskets 
carefully,  and  place  them  in  readiness  for  instant 


PA  SSA  CON  A  WA  Y  267 

use,  in  the  event  of  an  attack  from  the  savages. 
Such  an  occurrence,  was,  indeed,  not  unlikely, 
after  the  rude  treatment  which  the  son  of  old 
Passaconaway  had  received  at  the  settlement.  It 
was  well  known  that  the  old  chief  was  able,  at 
a  word,  to  send  every  warrior  from  Pennacook  to 
Naumkeag  upon  the  war-path  of  Miantonimo ;  the 
vengeful  character  of  the  Indians  was  also  under 
stood  ;  and,  in  the  event  of  an  out-breaking  of  their 
resentment,  the  settlement  of  Pentucket  was,  of 
all  others,  the  most  exposed  to  danger. 

"  Don't  go  to  neighbor  Clements's  to-night, 
Mary,"  said  Alice  Ward  to  her  young,  unmarried 
sister ;  "  I  'm  afraid  some  of  the  tawny  Indians 
may  be  lurking  hereabout.  Mr.  Ward  says  he 
thinks  they  will  be  dangerous  neighbors  for  us." 

Mary  had  thrown  her  shawl  over  her  head,  and 
was  just  stepping  out.  "  It  is  but  a  step,  as  it 
were,  and  I  promised  good-wife  Clements  that  I 
would  certainly  come.  I  am  not  afraid  of  the  In 
dians.  There  's  none  of  them  about  here  except 
Red  Sam,  who  wanted  to  buy  me  of  Mr.  Ward  for 
his  squaw;  and  I  shall  not  be  afraid  of  my  old 
spark." 

The  girl  tripped  lightly  from  the  threshold  to 
wards  the  dwelling  of  her  neighbor.  She  had 
passed  nearly  half  the  distance  when  the  pathway, 
before  open  to  the  moonlight,  began  to  wind  along 
the  margin  of  the  river,  overhung  with  young  syca 
mores  and  hemlocks.  With  a  beating  heart  and 
a  quickened  step  she  was  stealing  through  the 
shadow,  when  the  boughs  on  the  river-side  were 
suddenly  parted,  and  a  tall  man  sprang  into  the 


268  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

path  before  her.     Shrinking  back  with  terror,  she 
uttered  a  faint  scream. 

"  Mary  Edmands !  "  said  the  stranger,  "  do  not 
fear  me." 

A  thousand  thoughts  wildly  chased  each  other 
through  the  mind  of  the  astonished  girl.  That 
familiar  voice  —  that  knowledge  of  her  name  — 
that  tall  and  well-remembered  form  !  She  leaned 
eagerly  forward,  and  looked  into  the  stranger's 
face.  A  straggling  gleam  of  moonshine  fell  across 
its  dark  features  of  manly  beauty. 

"  Kichard  Martin !  can  it  be  possible  !  " 

"  Yea,  Mary,"  answered  the  other,  "  I  have  fol 
lowed  thee  to  the  new  world,  in  that  love  which 
neither  sea  nor  land  can  abate.  For  many  weary 
months  I  have  waited  earnestly  for  such  a  meeting 
as  this,  and,  in  that  time,  I  have  been  in  many  and 
grievous  perils  by  the  flood  and  the  wilderness, 
and  by  the  heathen  Indians  and  more  heathen  per 
secutors  among  my  own  people.  But  I  may  not 
tarry,  nor  delay  to  tell  my  errand.  Mary,  thou 
knowest  my  love ;  wilt  thou  be  my  wife  ?" 

Mary  hesitated. 

"  I  ask  thee  again,  if  thou  wilt  share  the  for 
tunes  of  one  who  hath  loved  thee  ever  since  thou 
wast  but  a  child,  playing  under  the  cottage  trees 
in  old  Haverhill,  and  who  hath  sacrificed  his 
worldly  estate,  and  perilled  his  soul's  salvation  for 
thy  sake.  Mary,  dear  Mary,  for  of  a  truth  thou 
art  very  dear  to  me  ;  wilt  thou  go  with  me  and  be 
my  wife  ?" 

The  tones  of  Richard  Martin,  usually  harsh  and 
forbidding,  now  fell  soft  and  musical  on  the  ear  of 


PASSACONAWAY  269 

Mary.  He  was  her  first  love,  her  only  one.  What 
marvel  that  she  consented  ? 

"  Let  us  hasten  to  depart,"  said  Martin,  "  this  is 
no  place  for  me.  We  will  go  to  the  Providence 
plantations.  Passaconaway  will  assist  us  in  our 
journey." 

The  bright  flush  of  hope  and  joy  faded  from  the 
face  of  the  young  girl.  She  started  back  from  the 
embrace  of  her  lover. 

"  What  mean  you,  Richard  ?  What  was  't  you 
said  about  our  going  to  that  sink  of  wickedness  at 
Providence  ?  Why  don't  you  go  back  with  me  to 
sister  Ward's  ?  " 

"  Mary  Edmands ! "  said  Martin,  in  a  tone  of 
solemn  sternness,  "  it  is  fitting  that  I  should  tell 
thee  all.  I  have  renounced  the  evil  doctrines  of 
thy  brother-in-law,  and  his  brethren  in  false 
prophecy.  It  was  a  hard  struggle,  Mary ;  the 
spirit  was  indeed  willing,  but  the  flesh  was  weak, 
exceeding  weak,  for  I  thought  of  thee,  Mary,  and 
of  thy  friends.  But  I  had  a  measure  of  strength 
given  me,  whereby  I  have  been  enabled  to  do  the 
work  which  was  appointed  me." 

"  Oh,  Richard !  "  said  Mary,  bursting  into  tears, 
"  I  'm  afraid  you  have  become  a  Williamsite,  one 
of  them,  who,  Mr.  Ward  says,  have  nothing  to 
hope  for  in  this  world  or  in  that  to  come." 

"  The  Lord  rebuke  him !  "  said  Martin,  with  a 
loud  voice.  "  Woe  to  such  as  speak  evil  of  the  wit 
nesses  of  the  truth.  I  have  seen  the  utter  naked 
ness  of  the  land  of  carnal  professors,  and  I  have 
obeyed  the  call  to  come  out  from  among  them  and 
be  separate.  I  belong  to  that  persecuted  family 


270  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

whom  the  proud  priests  and  rulers  of  this  colony 
have  driven  from  their  borders.  I  was  brought, 
with  many  others,  before  the  wicked  magistrates  of 
Boston,  and  sentenced  to  labor,  without  hire,  for 
the  ungodly.  But  I  have  escaped  from  my  bonds ; 
and  the  Lord  has  raised  up  a  friend  for  his  ser 
vant,  even  the  Indian  Passaconaway,  whose  son  I 
assisted,  but  a  little  time  ago,  to  escape  from  his 
captors." 

"  Can  it  be  ?  "  sobbed  Mary,  "  can  it  be  ?  Rich 
ard,  our  own  Richard,  following  the  tribe  of  Gor 
ton,  the  Familist !  Oh,  Richard,  if  you  love  me, 
if  you  love  God's  people  and  his  true  worship,  do 
come  away  from  those  wicked  fanatics." 

"  Thou  art  in  the  very  gall  of  bitterness  and  the 
bond  of  iniquity,"  answered  Martin.  "  Listen, 
Mary  Edmands,  to  the  creed  of  those  whom  thou 
callest  fanatics.  We  believe  in  Christ,  but  not  in 
man-worship.  The  Christ  we  reverence  is  the 
shadow  or  image  of  God  in  man  ;  he  was  crucified 
in  Adam  of  old,  and  hath  been  crucified  in  all  men 
since ;  his  birth,  his  passion,  and  his  death,  were 
but  manifestations  or  figures  of  his  sufferings  in 
Adam  and  his  descendants.  Faith  and  Christ  are 
the  same,  the  spiritual  image  of  God  in  the  heart. 
We  acknowledge  no  rule  but  this  Christ,  this  faith 
within  us,  either  in  temporal  or  spiritual  things. 
And  the  Lord  hath  blessed  us,  and  will  bless  us, 
and  truth  shall  be  magnified  and  exalted  in  us; 
and  the  children  of  the  heathen  shall  be  brought  to 
know  and  partake  of  this  great  redemption  whereof 
we  testify.  But  woe  to  the  false  teachers,  and  to 
them  who  prophesy  for  hire  and  make  gain  of 


PASSACONAWAY  271 

their  soothsaying.  Their  churches  are  the  de 
vices  of  Satan,  the  pride  and  vanity  of  the  natural 
Adam.  Their  baptism  is  blasphemy ;  and  their 
sacrament  is  an  abomination,  yea,  an  incantation 
and  a  spell.  Woe  to  them  who  take  the  shadow 
for  the  substance,  that  bow  down  to  the  altars  of 
human  device  and  cunning  workmanship,  that 
make  idols  of  their  ceremonies  !  Woe  to  the  high 
priests  and  the  Pharisees,  and  the  captains  and  the 
rulers ;  woe  to  them  who  love  the  wages  of  unright 
eousness  !  " 

The  Familist  paused  from  utter  exhaustion,  so 
vehemently  had  he  poured  forth  the  abundance  of 
his  zeal.  Mary  Edmands,  overwhelmed  by  his 
eloquence,  but  still  unconvinced,  could  only  urge 
the  disgrace  and  danger  attending  his  adherence  to 
such  pernicious  doctrines.  She  concluded  by  tell 
ing  him,  in  a  voice  choked  by  tears,  that  she  could 
never  marry  him  while  a  follower  of  Gorton. 

"  Stay  then,"  said  Martin,  fiercely  dashing  her 
hand  from  his,  "  stay  and  partake  of  the  curse  of 
the  ungodly,  even  of  the  curse  of  Meroz,  who  come 
not  up  to  the  help  of  the  Lord,  against  the  mighty  ! 
Stay,  till  the  Lord  hath  made  a  threshing  instru 
ment  of  the  heathen,  whereby  the  pride  of  the 
rulers,  and  the  chief  priests,  and  the  captains  of 
this  land  shall  be  humbled.  Stay,  till  the  vials  of 
His  wrath  are  poured  out  upon  ye,  and  the  blood 
of  the  strong  man,  and  the  maid,  and  the  little  child 
is  mingled  together  !  " 

The  wild  language,  the  fierce  tones  and  gestures 
of  her  lover,  terrified  the  unhappy  girl.  She 
looked  wildly  around  her,  all  was  dark  and 


272  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

shadowy,  an  undefined  fear  of  violence  came  over 
her ;  and,  bursting  into  tears,  she  turned  to  fly. 
"  Stay  yet  a  moment,"  said  Martin,  in  a  hoarse 
and  subdued  voice.  He  caught  hold  of  her  arm. 
She  shrieked  as  if  in  mortal  jeopardy. 

"  Let  go  the  gal,  let  her  go !  "  said  old  Job 
Clements,  thrusting  the  long  barrel  of  his  gun 
through  the  bushes  within  a  few  feet  of  the  head 
of  the  Familist.  "  A  white  man,  as  sure  as  I  live ! 
I  thought,  sartin,  't  was  a  tarnal  Ingin."  Martin 
relinquished  his  hold,  and,  the  next  instant,  found 
himself  surrounded  by  the  settlers. 

After  a  brief  explanation  had  taken  place  be 
tween  Mr.  Ward  and  his  sister-in-law,  the  former 
came  forward  and  accosted  the  Familist.  "  Rich 
ard  Martin  !  "  he  said,  "  I  little  thought  to  see  thee 
so  soon  in  the  new  world,  still  less  to  see  thee  such 
as  thou  art.  I  am  exceeding  sorry  that  I  cannot 
greet  thee  here  as  a  brother,  either  in  a  temporal 
or  a  spiritual  nature.  My  sister  tells  me  that  you 
are  a  follower  of  that  servant  of  Satan,  Samuel 
Gorton,  and  that  you  have  sought  to  entice  her 
away  with  you  to  the  colony  of  fanatics  at  Rhode 
Island,  which  may  be  fitly  compared  to  that  city 
which  Philip  of  Macedonia  peopled  with  rogues 
and  vagabonds,  and  the  offscouring  of  the  whole 
earth." 

"  John  Ward,  I  know  thee,"  said  the  unshrink 
ing  Familist ;  "  I  know  thee  for  a  man  wise  above 
what  is  written,  a  man  vain,  uncharitable,  and 
given  to  evil  speaking.  I  value  neither  thy  taunts 
nor  thy  wit ;  for  the  one  hath  its  rise  in  the  bitter 
ness,  and  the  other  in  the  vanity,  of  the  natural 


PASS  A  CON  A  WAY  273 

Adam.  Those  who  walk  in  the  true  light,  and 
who  have  given  over  crucifying  Christ  in  their 
hearts,  heed  not  a  jot  of  the  reproaches  and  de 
spiteful  doings  of  the  high  and  mighty  in  iniquity. 
For  of  us  it  hath  been  written  :  '  I  have  given 
them  thy  word  and  the  world  hath  hated  them  be 
cause  they  are  not  of  the  world.  If  the  world 
hate  you,  ye  know  that  it  hated  me  before  it  hated 
you.  If  they  have  hated  me  they  will  hate  you 
also ;  if  they  have  persecuted  me  they  will  perse 
cute  you.'  And,  of  the  scoffers  and  the  scorners, 
the  wise  ones  of  this  world,  whose  wisdom  and 
knowledge  have  perverted  them,  and  who  have 
said  in  their  hearts,  There  is  none  beside  them,  it 
hath  been  written,  yea,  and  will  be  fulfilled : 
4  The  day  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts  shall  be  upon  every 
one  that  is  proud  and  lofty,  and  upon  every  one 
that  is  lifted  up,  and  he  shall  be  brought  low;  and 
the  loftiness  of  man  shall  be  bowed  down,  and  the 
haughtiness  of  man  shall  be  brought  low ;  and  the 
Lord  alone  shall  be  exalted  in  that  day ;  and  the 
idols  shall  he  utterly  abolish.'  Of  thee,  John 
Ward,  and  of  thy  priestly  brotherhood,  I  ask 
nothing ;  and  for  the  much  evil  I  have  received, 
and  may  yet  receive  at  your  hands,  may  ye  be  re 
warded  like  Alexander  the  coppersmith,  every  man 
according  to  his  works." 

"  Such  damnable  heresy,"  said  Mr.  Ward,  ad 
dressing  his  neighbors,  "  must  not  be  permitted  to 
spread  among  the  people.  My  friends,  we  must 
send  this  man  to  the  magistrates." 

The  Familist  placed  his  hands  to  his  mouth,  and 
gave  a  whistle,  similar  to  that  which  was  heard  in 


274  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

the  morning,  and  which  preceded  the  escape  of 
Wonolanset.  It  was  answered  by  a  shout  from 
the  river  ;  and  a  score  of  Indians  came  struggling 
up  through  the  brush-wood. 

"  Vile  heretic !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Ward,  snatching 
a  musket  from  the  hands  of  his  neighbor,  and  level 
ling  it  full  at  the  head  of  Martin  ;  "  you  have  be 
trayed  us  into  this  jeopardy." 

"  Wagh !  down  um  gun,"  said  a  powerful  In 
dian,  as  he  laid  his  rough  hand  on  the  shoulder  of 
the  minister.  "You  catch  Wonolanset,  tie  um, 
shoot  um,  scare  squaw.  Old  sachem  come  now, 
me  tie  white  man,  shoot  um,  roast  um ; "  and  the 
old  savage  smiled  grimly  and  fiercely  in  the  indis 
tinct  moonlight,  as  he  witnessed  the  alarm  and 
terror  of  his  prisoner. 

"  Hold,  Passaconaway !  "  said  Martin,  in  the  In 
dian  tongue.  "  Will  the  great  chief  forget  his 
promise  ?  " 

The  sachem  dropped  his  hold  on  Mr.  Ward's 
arm.  "  My  brother  is  good,"  he  said ;  "  me  no 
kill  um,  me  make  um  walk  woods  like  Wonolan 
set."  Martin  spoke  a  few  words  in  the  chief's  ear. 
The  countenance  of  the  old  warrior  for  an  instant 
seemed  to  express  dissatisfaction ;  but,  yielding  to 
the  powerful  influence  which  the  Familist  had  ac 
quired  over  him,  he  said,  with  some  reluctance, 
"  My  brother  is  wise,  me  do  so." 

"  John  Ward,  "  said  the  Familist,  approaching 
the  minister,  "  thou  hast  devised  evil  against  one 
who  hath  never  injured  thee.  But  I  seek  not  car 
nal  revenge.  I  have  even  now  restrained  the 
anger  of  this  heathen  chief  whom  thou  and  thine 


PASSACONAWAY  275 

have  wronged  deeply.  Let  us  part  in  peace,  for 
we  may  never  more  meet  in  this  world."  And  he 
extended  his  hand  and  shook  that  of  the  minister. 

"  For  thee,  Mary,"  he  said,  "  I  had  hoped  to 
pluck  thee  from  the  evil  which  is  to  come,  even  as 
a  brand  from  the  burning.  I  had  hoped  to  lead 
thee  to  the  manna  of  true  righteousness,  but  thou 
hast  chosen  the  flesh-pots  of  Egypt.  I  had  hoped 
to  cherish  thee  always,  but  thou  hast  forgotten  me 
and  my  love,  which  brought  me  over  the  great 
waters  for  thy  sake.  I  will  go  among  the  Gen 
tiles,  and  if  it  be  the  Lord's  will,  peradventure  I 
may  turn  away  their  wrath  from  my  people. 
When  my  wearisome  pilgrimage  is  ended,  none 
shall  know  the  grave  of  Richard  Martin  ;  and  none 
but  the  heathen  shall  mourn  for  him.  Mary  !  I 
forgive  thee  ;  may  the  God  of  all  mercies  bless 
thee !  I  shall  never  see  thee  more." 

Hot  and  fast  fell  the  tears  of  that  stern  man 
upon  the  hand  of  Mary.  The  eyes  of  the  young 
woman  glanced  hurriedly  over  the  faces  of  her 
neighbors,  and  fixed  tearfully  upon  that  of  her 
lover.  A  thousand  recollections  of  young  affec 
tion,  of  vows  and  meetings  in  another  land,  came 
vividly  before  her.  Her  sister's  home,  her  broth 
er's  instructions,  her  own  strong  faith,  and  her 
bitter  hatred  of  her  lover's  heresy  were  all  for 
gotten. 

"  Richard,  dear  Richard,  I  am  your  Mary  as 
much  as  ever  I  was.  I  '11  go  with  you  to  the  ends 
of  the  earth.  Your  God  shall  be  my  God,  and 
where  you  are  buried  there  will  I  be  also." 

Silent   in   the   ecstasy  of   joyful    surprise,   the 


276  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

Familist  pressed  her  to  his  bosom.  Passaconaway, 
who  had  hitherto  been  an  unmoved  spectator  of  the 
scene,  relaxed  the  Indian  gravity  of  his  features, 
and  murmured,  in  an  undertone,  "  Good,  good." 

"  Will  my  brother  go  ?  "  he  inquired,  touching 
Martin's  shoulder ;  "  my  squaws  have  fine  mat,  big 
wigwam,  soft  samp,  for  his  young  woman." 

"Mary,"  said  Martin,  "  the  sachem  is  impatient; 
and  we  must  needs  go  with  him."  Mary  did  not 
answer,  but  her  head  was  reclined  upon  his  bosom, 
and  the  Familist  knew  that  she  resigned  herself 
wholly  to  his  direction.  He  folded  the  shawl  more 
carefully  around  her,  and  supported  her  down  the 
precipitous  and  rugged  bank  of  the  river,  followed 
closely  by  Passaconaway  and  his  companions. 

"  Come  back,  Mary  Edmands  !  "  shouted  Mr. 
Ward.  "  In  God's  name  come  back." 

Half  a  dozen  canoes  shot  out  into  the  clear  moon 
light  from  the  shadow  of  the  shore.  "  It  is  too 
late !  "  said  the  minister,  as  he  struggled  down  to 
the  water's  edge.  "  Satan  hath  laid  his  hands 
upon  her ;  but  I  will  contend  for  her,  even  as  did 
Michael  of  old  for  the  body  of  Moses.  Mary,  sis 
ter  Mary,  for  the  love  of  Christ,  answer  me." 

No  sound  came  back  from  the  canoes,  which 
glided  like  phantoms,  noiselessly  and  swiftly, 
through  the  still  waters  of  the  river.  "  The  enemy 
hath  prevailed,"  said  Mr.  Ward ;  "  two  women 
were  grinding  at  my  mill,  the  one  is  taken  and  the 
other  is  left.  Let  us  go  home,  my  friends,  and 
wrestle  in  prayer  against  the  Tempter." 

The  heretic  and  his  orthodox  bride  departed  into 
the  thick  wilderness,  under  the  guidance  of  Passa- 


PASSACONAWAY  277 

conaway,  and  in  a  few  days  reached  the  Eldorado 
of  the  heretic  and  the  persecuted,  the  colony  of 
Roger  Williams.  Passaconaway,  ever  after,  re 
mained  friendly  to  the  white  men.  As  civilization 
advanced  he  retired  before  it,  to  Pennacook,  now 
Concord,  on  the  Merrimac,  where  the  tribes  of  the 
Naumkeags,  Piscataquas,  Accomentas,  and  Aga- 
wams  acknowledged  his  authority. 


THE  OPIUM  EATEE. 

[1833.] 

Heavens  !  what  a  revulsion  !  what  an  upheaving  from  its  low 
est  depths  of  the  inner  spirit !  what  an  apocalypse  of  the  world 
within  me  !  Here  was  a  panacea,  a  pharmakon  nepenthes  for  all 
human  woes  ;  here  was  the  secret  of  happiness  about  which  phi 
losophers  had  disputed  for  so  many  ages :  happiness  might  be 
bought  for  a  penny,  and  carried  in  the  waistcoat  pocket.  —  DB 
QUINCE Y'S  Confessions  of  an  Opium  Eater. 

HE  was  a  tall,  thin  personage,  with  a  marked 
brow  and  a  sunken  eye. 

He  stepped  towards  a  closet  of  his  apartment, 
and  poured  out  a  few  drops  of  a  dark  liquid.  His 
hand  shook,  as  he  raised  the  glass  which  contained 
them  to  his  lips ;  and  with  a  strange  shuddering, 
a  nervous  tremor,  as  if  all  the  delicate  chords  of 
his  system  were  unloosed  and  trembling,  he  turned 
away  from  his  fearful  draught. 

He  saw  that  my  eye  was  upon  him ;  and  I  could 
perceive  that  his  mind  struggled  desperately  with 
the  infirmity  of  his  nature,  as  if  ashamed  of  the 
utter  weakness  of  its  tabernacle.  He  passed 
hastily  up  and  down  the  room.  "  You  seem  some 
what  ill,"  I  said,  in  the  undecided  tone  of  partial 
interrogatory. 

He  paused,  and  passed  his  long  thin  fingers  over 
his  forehead.  "  I  am  indeed  ill,"  he  said,  slowly, 
and  with  that  quavering,  deep-drawn  breathing, 
which  is  so  indicative  of  anguish,  mental  and  phy 
sical.  "  I  am  weak  as  a  child,  weak  alike  in  mind 


THE   OPIUM  EATER  279 

and  body,  even  when  I  am  under  the  immediate  in 
fluence  of  yonder  drug."  And  he  pointed,  as  he 
spoke,  to  a  phial,  labelled  "  Laudanum,"  upon  a 
table  in  the  corner  of  the  room. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  I,  "  for  God's  sake  abandon 
your  desperate  practice :  I  know  not,  indeed,  the 
nature  of  your  afflictions,  but  I  feel  assured  that 
you  have  yet  the  power  to  be  happy.  You  have, 
at  least,  warm  friends  to  sympathize  with  you. 
But  forego,  if  possible,  your  pernicious  stimulant 
of  laudanum.  It  is  hurrying  you  to  your  grave." 

"  It  may  be  so,"  he  replied,  while  another  shud 
der  ran  along  his  nerves ;  "  but  why  should  I  fear 
it  ?  I,  who  have  become  worthless  to  myself  and 
annoying  to  my  friends;  exquisitely  sensible  of 
my  true  condition,  yet  wanting  the  power  to  change 
it;  cursed  with  a  lively  apprehension  of  all  that 
I  ought  now  to  be,  yet  totally  incapable  of  even 
making  an  effort  to  be  so !  My  dear  sir,  I  feel 
deeply  the  kindness  of  your  motives,  but  it  is  too 
late  for  me  to  hope  to  profit  by  your  advice." 

I  was  shocked  at  his  answer.  "  But  can  it  be 
possible,"  said  I,  "  that  the  influence  of  such  an 
excessive  use  of  opium  can  produce  any  alleviation 
of  mental  suffering  ?  any  real  relief  to  the  har 
assed  mind  ?  Is  it  not  rather  an  aggravation  ?  " 

*'  I  know  not,"  he  said,  seating  himself  with  con 
siderable  calmness,  —  "I  know  not.  If  it  has  not 
removed  the  evil,  it  has  at  least  changed  its  char 
acter.  It  has  diverted  my  mind  from  its  original 
grief ;  and  has  broken  up  and  rendered  divergent 
the  concentrated  agony  which  oppressed  me.  It 
has,  in  a  measure,  substituted  imaginary  afflictions 


280  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

for  real  ones.  I  cannot  but  confess,  however,  that 
the  relief  which  it  has  afforded  has  been  produced 
by  the  counteraction  of  one  pain  by  another ;  very 
much  like  that  of  the  Russian  criminal,  who 
'  gnaws  his  own  flesh  while  undergoing  the  pun 
ishment  of  the  knout.' " 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,"  said  I,  "  try  to  dispossess 
your  mind  of  such  horrid  images.  There  are 
many,  very  many  resources  yet  left  you.  Try  the 
effect  of  society ;  and  let  it  call  into  exercise  those 
fine  talents  which  all  admit  are  so  well  calculated 
to  be  its  ornament  and  pride.  At  least,  leave  this 
hypochondriacal  atmosphere,  and  look  out  more 
frequently  upon  nature.  Your  opium,  if  it  be  an 
alleviator,  is,  by  your  own  confession,  a  most  mel 
ancholy  one.  It  exorcises  one  demon  to  give  place 
to  a  dozen  others. 

'  With  other  ministrations,  thou,  0  Nature  ! 
Healest  thy  wandering  and  distempered  child.'  " 

He  smiled  bitterly ;  it  was  a  heartless,  melan 
choly  relaxation  of  features,  a  mere  muscular  move 
ment,  with  which  the  eye  had  no  sympathy ;  for 
its  wild  and  dreamy  expression,  the  preternatural 
lustre,  without  transparency,  remained  unaltered, 
as  if  rebuking,  with  its  cold,  strange  glare,  the 
mockery  around  it.  He  sat  before  me  like  a  statue, 
whose  eye  alone  retained  its  stony  and  stolid  rigi 
dity,  while  the  other  features  were  moved  by  some 
secret  machinery  into  "  a  ghastly  smile." 

"  I  am  not  desirous,  even  were  it  practicable," 
he  said,  "  to  defend  the  use  of  opium,  or  rather  the 
abuse  of  it.  I  can  only  say,  that  the  substitutes 
you  propose  are  not  suited  to  my  condition.  The 


THE   OPIUM  EATER  281 

world  has  now  no  enticements  for  me  ;  society  no 
charms.  Love,  fame,  wealth,  honor,  may  engross 
the  attention  of  the  multitude ;  to  me  they  are  all 
shadows  ;  and  why  should  I  grasp  at  them  ?  In 
the  solitude  of  my  own  thoughts,  looking  on  but 
not  mingling  in  them,  I  have  taken  the  full  gauge 
of  their  hollow  vanities.  No,  leave  me  to  myself, 
or  rather  to  that  new  existence  which  I  have  en 
tered  upon,  to  the  strange  world  to  which  my  daily 
opiate  invites  me.  In  society  I  am  alone,  fear 
fully  solitary  ;  for  my  mind  broods  gloomily  over 
its  besetting  sorrow,  and  I  make  myself  doubly 
miserable  by  contrasting  my  own  darkness  with 
the  light  and  joy  of  all  about  me  ;  nay,  you  cannot 
imagine  what  a  very  hard  thing  it  is,  at  such 
times,  to  overcome  some  savage  feelings  of  misan 
thropy  which  will  present  themselves.  But  when 
I  am  alone,  and  under  the  influence  of  opium,  I 
lose  for  a  season  my  chief  source  of  misery,  my 
self  ;  my  mind  takes  a  new  and  unnatural  channel ; 
and  I  have  often  thought  that  any  one,  even  that 
of  insanity,  would  be  preferable  to  its  natural  one. 
It  is  drawn,  as  it  were,  out  of  itself ;  and  I  realize 
in  my  own  experience  the  fable  of  Pythagoras,  of 
two  distinct  existences,  enjoyed  by  the  same  intel 
lectual  being. 

"  My  first  use  of  opium  was  the  consequence  of 
an  early  and  very  bitter  disappointment.  I  dis 
like  to  think  of  it,  much  more  to  speak  of  it.  I 
recollect,  on  a  former  occasion,  you  expressed  some 
curiosity  concerning  it.  I  then  repelled  that  curi 
osity,  for  my  mind  was  not  in  a  situation  to  gratify 
it.  But  now,  since  I  have  been  talking  of  myself, 


282  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

I  think  I  can  go  on  with  my  story  with  a  very 
decent  composure.  In  complying  with  your  re 
quest,  I  cannot  say  that  my  own  experience  war 
rants,  in  any  degree,  the  old  and  commonly  re 
ceived  idea  that  sorrow  loses  half  its  poignancy  by 
its  revelation  to  others.  It  was  a  humorous  opin 
ion  of  Sterne,  that  a  blessing  which  ties  up  the 
tongue,  and  a  mishap  which  unlooses  it,  are  to  be 
considered  equal ;  and,  indeed,  I  have  known  some 
people  happy  under  all  the  changes  of  fortune, 
when  they  could  find  patient  auditors.  Tully  wept 
over  his  dead  daughter,  but  when  he  chanced  to 
think  of  the  excellent  things  he  could  say  on  the 
subject,  he  considered  it,  on  the  whole,  a  happy 
circumstance.  But,  for  my  own  part,  I  cannot  say 
with  the  Mariner  in  Coleridge's  ballad,  that 

"  '  At  an  uncertain  hour 
My  agony  returns ; 
And,  till  my  ghastly  tale  is  told, 
This  heart  within  me  burns.'  " 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  rested  his  head  upon 

his  hand.  "  You  have  seen  Mrs.  H ,  of ?  " 

he  inquired,  somewhat  abruptly.  I  replied  in  the 
affirmative. 

"  Do  you  not  think  her  a  fine  woman  ?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly,  a  fine  woman.  She  was  once, 
I  am  told,  very  beautiful." 

"  Once  ?  is  she  not  so  now  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Well, 
I  have  heard  the  same  before.  I  sometimes  think 
I  should  like  to  see  her  now,  now  that  the  mildew 
of  years  and  perhaps  of  accusing  recollections  are 
upon  her ;  and  see  her  toss  her  gray  curls  as  she 
used  to  do  her  dark  ones,  and  act  over  again  her 


THE   OPIUM  EATER  283 

old  stratagem  of  smiles  upon  a  face  of  wrinkles. 
Just  Heavens  !  were  I  revengeful  to  the  full  extent 
of  my  wrongs,  I  could  wish  her  no  worse  punish 
ment. 

"  They  told  you  truly,  my  dear  sir,  —  she  was 
beautiful,  nay,  externally,  faultless.  Her  figure 
was  that  of  womanhood,  just  touching  upon  the 
meridian  of  perfection,  from  which  nothing  could 
be  taken,  and  to  which  nothing  could  be  added. 
There  was  a  very  witchery  in  her  smile,  trembling, 
as  it  did,  over  her  fine  Grecian  features,  like  the 
play  of  moonlight  upon  a  shifting  and  beautiful 
cloud. 

"  Her  voice  was  music,  low,  sweet,  bewildering. 
I  have  heard  it  a  thousand  times  in  my  dreams. 
It  floated  around  me,  like  the  tones  of  some  rare 
instrument,  unseen  by  the  hearer;  for,  beautiful 
as  she  was,  you  could  not  think  of  her,  or  of  her 
loveliness,  while  she  was  speaking;  it  was  that 
sweetly  wonderful  voice,  seemingly  abstracted  from 
herself,  pouring  forth  the  soft  current  of  its  ex 
quisite  cadence,  which  alone  absorbed  the  attention. 
Like  that  one  of  Coleridge's  heroines,  you  could 
half  feel,  half  fancy,  that  it  had  a  separate  being 
of  its  own,  a  spiritual  presence  manifested  to  but 
one  of  the  senses ;  a  living  something,  whose  mode 
of  existence  was  for  the  ear  alone.1 

"  But  what  shall  I  say  of  the  mind  ?  What  of 
the  spirit,  the  resident  divinity  of  so  fair  a  temple  ? 
Vanity,  vanity,  all  was  vanity;  a  miserable,  per 
sonal  vanity,  too,  unrelieved  by  one  noble  aspiration, 
one  generous  feeling;  the  whited  sepulchre  spoken 

1  See  Memoirs  of  Maria  Eleonora  Schoning. 


284  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

of  of  old,  beautiful  without,  but  dark  and  unseemly 
within. 

"  I  look  back  with  wonder  and  astonishment  to 
that  period  of  my  life,  when  such  a  being  claimed 
and  received  the  entire  devotion  of  my  heart.  Her 
idea  blended  with  or  predominated  over  all  others. 
It  was  the  common  centre  in  my  mind  from  which 
all  the  radii  of  thought  had  their  direction ;  the 
nucleus  around  which  I  had  gathered  all  that  my 
ardent  imagination  could  conceive,  or  a  memory 
stored  with  all  the  delicious  dreams  of  poetry  and 
romances  could  embody,  of  female  excellence  and 
purity  and  constancy. 

"  It  is  idle  to  talk  of  the  superior  attractions  of 
intellectual  beauty,  when  compared  with  mere  ex 
ternal  loveliness.  The  mind,  invisible  and  compli 
cated  and  indefinite,  does  not  address  itself  directly 
to  the  senses.  It  is  comprehended  only  by  its 
similitude  in  others.  It  reveals  itself,  even  then, 
but  slowly  and  imperfectly.  But  the  beauty  of 
form  and  color,  the  grace  of  motion,  the  harmony 
of  tone,  are  seen  and  felt  and  appreciated  at  once. 
The  image  of  substantial  and  material  loveliness 
once  seen  leaves  an  impression  as  distinct  and 
perfect  upon  the  retina  of  memory  as  upon  that  of 
the  eyes.  It  does  not  rise  before  us  in  detached 
and  disconnected  proportions,  like  that  of  spiritual 
loveliness,  but  in  crowds,  and  in  solitude,  and  in  all 
the  throngf ul  varieties  of  thought  and  feeling  and 
action,  the  symmetrical  whole,  the  beautiful  perfec 
tion  comes  up  in  the  vision  of  memory,  and  stands, 
like  a  bright  angel,  between  us  and  all  other  im 
pressions  of  outward  or  immaterial  beauty. 


THE   OPIUM  EATER  285 

"  I  saw  her,  and  could  not  forget  her ;  I  sought 
her  society,  and  was  gratified  with  it.  It  is  true, 
I  sometimes  (in  the  first  stages  of  my  attachment) 
had  my  misgivings  in  relation  to  her  character.  I 
sometimes  feared  that  her  ideas  were  too  much 
limited  to  the  perishing  beauty  of  her  person.  But 
to  look  upon  her  graceful  figure  yielding  to  the 
dance,  or  reclining  in  its  indolent  symmetry  ;  to 
watch  the  beautiful  play  of  coloring  upon  her 
cheek,  and  the  moonlight  transit  of  her  smile  ;  to 
study  her  faultless  features  in  their  delicate  and 
even  thoughtful  repose,  or  when  lighted  up  into 
conversational  vivacity,  was  to  forget  everything, 
save  the  exceeding  and  bewildering  fascination  be 
fore  me.  Like  the  silver  veil  of  Khorassan  it  shut 
out  from  my  view  the  mental  deformity  beneath  it. 
I  could  not  reason  with  myself  about  her ;  I  had 
no  power  of  ratiocination  which  could  overcome 
the  blinding  dazzle  of  her  beauty.  The  master- 
passion,  which  had  wrestled  down  all  others,  gave 
to  every  sentiment  of  the  mind  something  of  its 
own  peculiar  character. 

"  I  will  not  trouble  you  with  a  connected  his 
tory  of  my  first  love,  my  boyish  love,  you  may  per 
haps  call  it.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  on  the  revela 
tion  of  that  love,  it  was  answered  by  its  object 
warmly  and  sympathizingly.  I  had  hardly  dared 
to  hope  for  her  favor ;  for  I  had  magnified  her 
into  something  far  beyond  mortal  desert ;  and  to 
hear  from  her  own  lips  an  avowal  of  affection 
seemed  more  like  the  condescension  of  a  pitying 
angel  than  the  sympathy  of  a  creature  of  pas 
sion  and  frailty  like  myself.  I  was  miserably  self 


286  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

deceived ;  and  self-deception  is  of  a  nature  most  re 
pugnant  to  the  healthy  operation  of  truth.  We 
suspect  others,  but  seldom  ourselves.  The  decep 
tion  becomes  a  part  of  our  self-love ;  we  hold  back 
the  error  even  when  Reason  would  pluck  it  away 
from  us. 

"  Our  whole  life  may  be  considered  as  made  up 
of  earnest  yearnings  after  objects  whose  value  in 
creases  with  the  difficulties  of  obtaining  them,  and 
which  seem  greater  and  more  desirable,  from  our 
imperfect  knowledge  of  their  nature,  just  as  the 
objects  of  the  outward  vision  are  magnified  and 
exalted  when  seen  through  a  natural  telescope  of 
mist.  Imagination  fills  up  and  supplies  the  pic 
ture,  of  which  we  can  only  catch  the  outlines,  with 
colors  brighter,  and  forms  more  perfect,  than  those 
of  reality.  Yet,  you  may  perhaps  wonder  why, 
after  my  earnest  desire  had  been  gratified,  after 
my  love  had  found  sympathy  in  its  object,  I  did 
not  analyze  more  closely  the  inherent  and  actual 
qualities  of  her  heart  and  intellect.  But  living,  as 
I  did,  at  a  considerable  distance  from  her,  and  see 
ing  her  only  under  circumstances  calculated  to  con 
firm  previous  impressions,  I  had  few  advantages, 
even  had  I  desired  to  do  so,  of  studying  her  true 
character.  The  world  had  not  yet  taught  me  its 
ungenerous  lesson.  I  had  not  yet  learned  to  apply 
the  rack  of  philosophical  analysis  to  the  objects 
around  me,  and  test,  by  a  cold  process  of  reason 
ing,  deduced  from  jealous  observation,  the  reality 
of  all  which  wore  the  outward  semblance  of  inno 
cence  and  beauty.  And  it  may  be,  too,  that  the 
belief,  nay,  the  assurance,  from  her  own  lips,  and 


THE   OPIUM  EATER  287 

from  the  thousand  voiceless  but  eloquent  signs 
which  marked  our  interviews,  that  I  was  beloved, 
made  me  anxious  to  deceive  even  myself,  by  in 
vesting  her  with  those  gifts  of  the  intellect  and  the 
heart,  without  which  her  very  love  would  have  de 
graded  its  object.  It  is  not  in  human  nature,  at 
least  it  was  not  in  mine,  to  embitter  the  delicious 
aliment  which  is  offered  to  our  vanity,  by  admit 
ting  any  uncomfortable  doubts  of  the  source  from 
which  it  is  derived. 

"  And  thus  it  was  that  I  came  on,  careless  and 
secure,  dreaming  over  and  over  the  same  bright 
dream ;  without  any  doubt,  without  fear,  and  in 
the  perfect  confidence  of  an  unlimited  trust,  until 
the  mask  fell  off,  all  at  once ;  without  giving  me 
time  for  preparation,  without  warning  or  inter 
lude  ;  and  the  features  of  cold,  heartless,  systematic 
treachery  glared  full  upon  me. 

"  I  saw  her  wedded  to  another.  It  was  a  beau 
tiful  morning  ;  and  never  had  the  sun  shone  down 
on  a  gayer  assemblage  than  that  which  gathered 
together  at  the  village  church.  I  witnessed  the 
imposing  ceremony  which  united  the  only  one 
being  I  had  ever  truly  loved  to  a  happy  and  fa 
vored,  because  more  wealthy,  rival.  As  the  gray- 
haired  man  pronounced  the  inquiring  challenge, 
4  If  any  man  can  show  just  cause  why  they  may  not 
lawfully  be  joined  together,  let  him  now  speak  or 
else  forever  after  hold  his  peace,'  I  struggled 
forward,  and  would  have  cried  out,  but  the  words 
died  away  in  my  throat.  And  the  ceremony  went 
on,  and  the  death-like  trance  into  which  I  had 
fallen  was  broken  by  the  voice  of  the  priest :  4 1 


288  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

require  and  charge  ye  both,  as  ye  will  answer  at 
the  dreadful  day  of  judgment,  when  the  secrets  of 
all  hearts  shall  be  disclosed,  that  if  either  of  you 
know  of  any  impediment  why  ye  may  not  law 
fully  be  joined  together  in  matrimony,  ye  do  now 
confess  it ;  for  be  ye  well  assured,  that  if  any  per 
sons  are  joined  together  otherwise  than  as  God's 
word  doth  allow,  their  marriage  is  not  lawful.'  As 
the  solemn  tones  of  the  old  man  died  away  in  the 
church  aisles,  I  almost  expected  to  hear  a  super 
natural  voice  calling  upon  him  to  forbear.  But 
there  was  no  sound.  For  an  instant  my  eyes  met 
those  of  the  bride  ;  the  blood  boiled  rapidly  to  her 
forehead,  and  then  sank  back,  and  she  was  as  pale 
as  if  death  had  been  in  the  glance  I  had  given  her. 
And  I  could  see  the  folds  of  her  rich  dress  tremble, 
and  her  beautiful  lips  quiver  ;  and  she  turned  away 
her  eyes,  and  the  solemn  rites  were  concluded. 

"  I  returned  to  my  lodgings.  I  heeded  not  the 
gay  smiles  and  free  merriment  of  those  around  me. 
I  hurried  along  like  one  who  wanders  abroad  in  a 

O 

dark  dream ;  for  I  could  hardly  think  of  the 
events  of  the  morning  as  things  of  reality.  But, 
when  I  spurred  my  horse  aside,  as  the  carriage 
which  contained  the  newly  married  swept  by  me, 
the  terrible  truth  came  upon  me  like  a  tangible 
substance,  and  one  black  and  evil  thought  passed 
over  my  mind,  like  the  whispered  suggestion  of 
Satan.  It  was  a  feeling  of  blood,  a  sensation  like 
that  of  grasping  the  strangling  throat  of  an  enemy. 
I  started  from  it  with  horror.  For  the  first  time 
a  thought  of  murder  had  risen  up  in  my  bosom  ; 
and  I  quenched  it  with  the  natural  abhorrence  of 
a  nature  prone  to  mildness  and  peace. 


THE   OPIUM  EATER  289 

"  I  reached  my  chamber,  and,  exhausted  alike 
in  mind  and  body,  I  threw  myself  upon  my  bed, 
but  not  to  sleep.  A  sense  of  my  utter  desolation 
and  loneliness  came  over  me,  blended  with  a  feel 
ing  of  bitter  and  unmerited  wrong.  I  recollected 
the  many  manifestations  of  affection  which  I  had 
received  from  her  who  had  that  day  given  herself, 
in  the  presence  of  Heaven,  to  another ;  and  I 
called  to  mind  the  thousand  sacrifices  I  had  made 
to  her  lightest  caprices,  to  every  shade  and  varia 
tion  of  her  temper  ;  and  then  came  the  maddening 
consciousness  of  the  black  ingratitude  which  had 
requited  such  tenderness.  Then,  too,  came  the 
thought,  bitter  to  a  pride  like  mine,  that  the  cold 
world  had  a  knowledge  of  my  misfortunes  ;  that  I 
should  be  pointed  out  as  a  disappointed  man,  a 
subject  for  the  pity  of  some,  and  the  scorn  and 
jestings  of  others.  Kage  and  shame  mingled  with 
the  keen  agony  of  outraged  feeling.  '  I  will  not 
endure  it,'  I  said,  mentally,  springing  from  my  bed 
and  crossing  the  chamber  with  a  flushed  brow  and 
a  strong  step ;  4  never ! '  And  I  ground  my  teeth 
upon  each  other,  while  a  .fierce  light  seemed  to 
break  in  upon  my  brain  ;  it  was  the  light  of  the 
Tempter's  smile,  and  I  almost  laughed  aloud  as 
the  horrible  thought  of  suicide  started  before  me. 
I  felt  that  I  might  escape  the  ordeal  of  public 
scorn  and  pity ;  that  I  might  bid  the  world  and 
its  falsehood  defiance,  and  end,  by  one  manly 
effort,  the  agony  of  an  existence  whose  every 
breath  was  torment. 

"  My  resolution  was  fixed.  4 1  will  never  see 
another  morrow ! '  I  said,  sternly,  but  with  a 


290  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

calmness  which  almost  astonished  me.  Indeed,  I 
seemed  gifted  with  a  supernatural  firmness,  as  I 
made  my  arrangements  for  the  last  day  of  suffer 
ing  which  I  was  to  endure.  A  few  friends  had 
been  invited  to  dine  with  me,  and  I  prepared  to 
meet  them.  They  came  at  the  hour  appointed 
with  smiling  faces  and  warm  and  friendly  greet 
ings  ;  and  I  received  them  as  if  nothing  had  hap 
pened,  with  even  a  more  enthusiastic  welcome  than 
was  my  wont. 

"  Oh !  it  is  terrible  to  smile  when  the  heart  is 
breaking!  to  talk  lightly  and  freely  and  mirth 
fully,  when  every  feeling  of  the  mind  is  wrung 
with  unutterable  agony ;  to  mingle  in  the  laugh 
and  in  the  gay  volleys  of  convivial  fellowship, 

'  With  the  difficult  utterance  of  one 
Whose  heart  is  with  an  iron  nerve  put  down.' 

Yet  all  this  I  endured,  hour  after  hour,  until  my 
friends  departed  and  I  had  pressed  their  hands  as 
at  a  common  parting,  while  my  heart  whispered  an 
everlasting  farewell ! 

"  It  was  late  when  they  left  me.  I  walked  out 
to  look  for  the  last  time  upon  Nature  in  her  ex 
ceeding  beauty.  I  hardly  acknowledged  to  myself 
that  such  was  my  purpose  ;  but  yet  I  did  feel  that 
it  was  so ;  and  that  I  was  taking  an  everlasting 
farewell  of  the  beautiful  things  around  me.  The 
sun  was  just  setting ;  and  the  hills,  that  rose  like  pil 
lars  of  the  blue  horizon,  were  glowing  with  a  light 
which  was  fast  deserting  the  valleys.  It  was  an 
evening  of  summer ;  everything  was  still ;  not  a 
leaf  stirred  in  the  dark,  overshadowing  foliage  ; 
but,  silent  and  beautiful  as  a  picture,  the  wide 


THE   OPIUM  EATER  291 

scenery  of  rock  and  hill  and  woodland,  stretched 
away  before  me  ;  and,  beautiful  as  it  was,  it  seemed 
to  possess  a  newness  and  depth  of  beauty  beyond 
its  ordinary  appearance,  as  if  to  aggravate  the 
pangs  of  the  last,  long  farewell. 

"  They  do  not  err  who  believe  that  man  has  a 
sympathy  with  even  inanimate  Nature,  deduced 
from  a  common  origin  ;  a  chain  of  co-existence  and 
affinity  connecting  the  outward  forms  of  natural 
objects  with  his  own  fearful  and  wonderful  machin 
ery  ;  something,  in  short,  manifested  in  his  love  of 
flowing  waters,  and  soft  green  shadows,  and  pleas 
ant  blowing  flowers,  and  in  his  admiration  of  the 
mountain,  stretching  away  into  heaven,  sublimed 
and  awful  in  its  cloudy  distance ;  the  heave  and 
swell  of  the  infinite  ocean;  the  thunder  of  the 
leaping  cataract ;  and  the  onward  rush  of  mighty 
rivers,  which  tells  of  its  original  source,  and  bears 
evidence  of  its  kindred  affinities.  Nor  was  the 
dream  of  the  ancient  Chaldean  '  all  a  dream.'  The 
stars  of  heaven,  the  beauty  and  the  glory  above 
us,  have  their  influences  and  their  power,  not  evil 
and  malignant  and  partial  and  irrevocable,  but 
holy  and  tranquillizing  and  benignant,  a  moral  in 
fluence,  by  which  all  may  profit  if  they  will  do  so. 
And  I  have  often  marvelled  at  the  hard  depravity 
of  that  human  heart  which  could  sanction  a  deed 
of  violence  and  crime  in  the  calm  solitudes  of  Na 
ture,  and  surrounded  by  the  enduring  evidences  of 
an  overruling  Intelligence.  I  could  conceive  of 
crime,  growing  up  rank  and  monstrous  in  the  un 
wholesome  atmosphere  of  the  thronged  city,  amidst 
the  taint  of  moral  as  well  as  physical  pestilence, 


292  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

and  surrounded  only  by  man  and  the  works  of  man. 
But  there  is  something  in  the  harmony  and  quiet 
of  the  natural  world  which  presents  a  reproving 
antagonism  to  the  fiercer  passions  of  the  human 
heart ;  an  eye  of  solemn  reprehension  looks  out 
from  the  still  places  of  Nature,  as  if  the  Great  Soul 
of  the  Universe  had  chosen  the  mute  creations  of 
his  power  to  be  the  witnesses  of  the  deeds  done  in 
the  body,  the  researchers  of  the  bosoms  of  men. 

"  And  then,  even  at  that  awful  moment,  I  could 
feel  the  bland  and  gentle  ministrations  of  Nature ; 
I  could  feel  the  fever  of  my  heart  cooling,  and  a 
softer  haze  of  melancholy  stealing  over  the  black 
ness  of  my  despair ;  and  the  fierce  passions  which 
had  distracted  me  giving  place  to  the  calm  of  a 
settled  anguish,  a  profound  sorrow,  the  quiet  gloom 
of  an  overshadowing  woe,  in  which  love  and 
hatred  and  wrong  were  swallowed  up  and  lost.  I 
no  longer  hated  the  world  ;  but  I  felt  that  it  had 
nothing  for  me  ;  that  I  was  no  longer  a  part  and 
portion  of  its  harmonious  elements  ;  affliction  had 
shut  me  out  forever  from  the  pale  of  human  happi 
ness  and  sympathy,  and  hope  pointed  only  to  the 
resting-place  of  the  grave  ! 

"  I  stood  steadily  gazing  at  the  setting  sun.  It 
touched  and  sat  upon  the  hill-top  like  a  great  circle 
of  fire.  I  had  never  before  fully  comprehended 
the  feeling  of  the  amiable  but  misguided  Rousseau, 
who  at  his  death-hour  desired  to  be  brought  into 
the  open  air,  that  the  last  glance  of  his  failing  eye 
might  drink  in  the  glory  of  the  sunset  heavens, 
and  the  light  of  his  great  intellect  and  that  of  Na 
ture  go  out  together.  For  surely  never  did  the 


THE   OPIUM  EATER  293 

Mexican  idolater  mark  with  deeper  emotion  the 
God  of  his  worship,  for  the  last  time  veiling  his 
awful  countenance,  than  did  I,  untainted  by  super 
stition,  yet  full  of  perfect  love  for  the  works  of 
Infinite  Wisdom,  watch  over  the  departure  of  the 
most  glorious  of  them  all.  I  felt,  even  to  agony, 
the  truth  of  these  exquisite  lines  of  the  Milesian 
poet : — 

'  Blest  power  of  sunshine,  genial  day  ! 
What  joy,  what  life  is  in  thy  ray  ! 
To  feel  thee  is  such  real  bliss, 
That,  had  the  world  no  joy  but  this, 
To  sit  in  sunshine,  calm  and  sweet, 
It  were  a  world  too  exquisite 
For  man  to  leave  it  for  the  gloom, 
The  dull,  cold  shadow  of  the  tomb  !  ' 

Never  shall  I  forget  my  sensations  when  the  sun 
went  down  utterly  from  my  sight.  It  was  like 
receiving  the  last  look  of  a  dying  friend.  To 
others  he  might  bring  life  and  health  and  joy,  on 
the  morrow  ;  but  to  me  he  would  never  rise.  As 
this  thought  came  over  me,  I  felt  a  stifling  sensa 
tion  in  my  throat,  tears  started  in  my  eyes,  and  my 
heart  almost  wavered  from  its  purpose.  But  the 
bent  bow  had  only  relaxed  for  a  single  instant ;  it 
returned  again  to  its  strong  and  abiding  tension. 

"I  was  alone  in  my  chamber  once  more.  A 
single  lamp  burned  gloomily  before  me ;  and  on 
the  table  at  my  side  stood  a  glass  of  laudanum.  I 
had  prepared  everything.  I  had  written  my  last 
letter,  and  had  now  only  to  drink  the  fatal  draught, 
and  lie  down  to  my  last  sleep.  I  heard  the  old 
village  clock  strike  eleven.  '  I  may  as  well  do  it 
now,  as  ever/  I  said  mentally,  and  my  hand  moved 


294  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

towards  the  glass.  But  my  courage  failed  me ; 
my  hand  shook,  and  some  moments  elapsed  before 
I  could  sufficiently  quiet  my  nerves  to  lift  the  glass 
containing  the  fatal  liquid.  The  blood  ran  cold 
upon  my  heart,  and  my  brain  reeled,  as  again  and 
again  I  lifted  the  poison  to  my  closed  lips.  '  It 
must  be  done,'  thought  I,  '  I  must  drink  it.'  With 
a  desperate  effort  I  unlocked  my  clenched  teeth 
and  the  deed  was  done ! 

"  4  O  God,  have  mercy  upon  me ! '  I  murmured, 
as  the  empty  glass  fell  from  my  hand.  I  threw 
myself  upon  the  bed,  and  awaited  the  awful  termi 
nation.  An  age  of  unutterable  misery  seemed 
crowded  into  a  brief  moment.  All  the  events  of 
my  past  life,  a  life,  as  it  then  seemed  to  me,  made 
up  of  folly  and  crime,  rose  distinct  before  me,  like 
accusing  witnesses,  as  if  the  recording  angel  had 
unrolled  to  my  view  the  full  and  black  catalogue 
of  my  unnumbered  sins :  — 

'  O'er  the  soul 

Winters  of  memory  seemed  to  roll, 
And  gather,  in  that  drop  of  time, 
A  life  of  pain,  an  age  of  crime. ' 

I  felt  that  what  I  had  done  was  beyond  recall ;  and 
the  Phantom  of  Death,  as  it  drew  nearer,  wore  an 
aspect  darker  and  more  terrible.  I  thought  of 
the  coffin,  the  shroud,  and  the  still  and  narrow 
grave,  into  whose  dumb  and  frozen  solitude  none 
but  the  gnawing  worm  intrudes.  And  then  my 
thoughts  wandered  away  into  the  vagueness  and 
mystery  of  eternity.  I  was  rushing  uncalled  for 
into  the  presence  of  a  just  and  pure  God,  with  a 
spirit  unrepenting,  unannealed !  And  I  tried  to 


THE   OPIUM  EATER  295 

pray  and  could  not ;  for  a  heaviness,  a  dull  strange 
torpor  crept  over  me.  Consciousness  went  out 
slowly.  '  This  is  death,'  thought  I ;  yet  I  felt  no 
pain,  nothing  save  a  weary  drowsiness,  against 
which  I  struggled  in  vain. 

"  My  next  sensations  were  those  of  calmness, 
deep,  ineffable,  an  unearthly  quiet ;  a  suspension 
or  rather  oblivion  of  every  mental  affliction;  a 
condition  of  the  mind  betwixt  the  thoughts  of 
wakefulness  and  the  dreams  of  sleep.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  the  gulf  between  mind  and  matter  had 
been  passed  over,  and  that  I  had  entered  upon  a 
new  existence.  I  had  no  memory,  no  hope,  no 
sorrow ;  nothing  but  a  dim  consciousness  of  a 
pleasurable  and  tranquil  being.  Gradually,  how 
ever,  the  delusion  vanished.  I  was  sensible  of 
still  wearing  the  fetters  of  the  flesh,  yet  they  galled 
no  longer ;  the  burden  was  lifted  from  my  heart, 
it  beat  happily  and  calmly,  as  in  childhood.  As 
the  stronger  influences  of  my  opiate  (for  I  had 
really  swallowed  nothing  more,  as  the  druggist, 
suspecting  from  the  incoherence  of  my  language, 
that  I  was  meditating  some  fearful  purpose,  fur 
nished  me  with  a  harmless,  though  not  ineffective 
draught)  passed  off,  the  events  of  the  past  came 
back  to  me.  It  was  like  the  slow  lifting  of  a  cur 
tain  from  a  picture  of  which  I  was  a  mere  specta 
tor,  about  which  I  could  reason  calmly,  and  trace 
dispassionately  its  light  and  shadow.  Having  sat 
isfied  myself  that  I  had  been  deceived  in  the  quan 
tity  of  opium  I  had  taken,  I  became  also  convinced 
that  I  had  at  last  discovered  the  great  antidote 
for  which  philosophy  had  exhausted  its  resources, 


296  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

the  fabled  Lethe,  the  oblivion  of  human  sorrow. 
The  strong  necessity  of  suicide  had  passed  away  ; 
life,  even  for  me,  might  be  rendered  tolerable  by 
the  sovereign  panacea  of  opium,  the  only  true  min 
ister  to  a  mind  diseased,  the  sought  '  kalon '  found. 

"  From  that  day  I  have  been  habitually  an 
opium  eater.  I  am  perfectly  sensible  that  the  con 
stant  use  of  the  pernicious  drug  has  impaired  my 
health;  but  I  cannot  relinquish  it.  Some  time 
since  I  formed  a  resolution  to  abandon  it,  totally 
and  at  once  ;  but  had  not  strength  enough  to  carry 
it  into  practice.  The  very  attempt  to  do  so  nearly 
drove  me  to  madness.  The  great  load  of  mental 
agony  which  had  been  lifted  up  and  held  aloof  by 
the  daily  applied  power  of  opium  sank  back  upon 
my  heart  like  a  crushing  weight.  Then,  too,  my 
physical  sufferings  were  extreme ;  an  indescribable 
irritation,  a  general  uneasiness  tormented  me  in 
cessantly.  I  can  only  think  of  it  as  a  total  disar 
rangement  of  the  whole  nervous  system,  the  jar 
ring  of  all  the  thousand  chords  of  sensitiveness, 
each  nerve  having  its  own  particular  pain.1 

"  De  Quincey,  in  his  wild,  metaphysical,  and 
eloquent,  yet,  in  many  respects,  fancy  sketch,  con 
siders  the  great  evil  resulting  from  the  use  of 
opium  to  be  the  effect  produced  upon  the  mind 
during  the  hours  of  sleep,  the  fearful  inquietude 
of  unnatural  dreams.  My  own  dreams  have  been 
certainly  of  a  different  order  from  those  which 
haunted  me  previous  to  my  experience  in  opium 
eating.  But  I  cannot  easily  believe  that  opium 
necessarily  introduces  a  greater  change  in  the 
1  Essay  on  the  Effects  of  Opium,  London,  1763. 


THE   OPIUM  EATER  297 

mind's   sleeping  operations,  than  in  those  of   its 
wakefulness. 

"  At  one  period,  indeed,  while  suffering  under  a 
general,  nervous  debility,  from  which  I  am  even 
now  but  partially  relieved,  my  troubled  and  broken 
sleep  was  overshadowed  by  what  I  can  only  ex 
press  as  '  a  horror  of  thick  darkness.'  There  was 
nothing  distinct  or  certain  in  my  visions,  all  was 
clouded,  vague,  hideous  ;  sounds  faint  and  awful, 
yet  unknown ;  the  sweep  of  heavy  wings,  the  hol 
low  sound  of  innumerable  footsteps,  the  glimpse  of 
countless  apparitions,  and  darkness  falling  like  a 
great  cloud  from  heaven. 

"  I  can  scarcely  give  you  an  adequate  idea  of  my 
situation  in  these  dreams,  without  comparing  it 
with  that  of  the  ancient  Egyptians  while  suffering 
under  the  plague  of  darkness.  I  never  read  the 
awful  description  of  this  curse,  without  associating 
many  of  its  horrors  with  those  of  my  own  experi 
ence. 

"  '  But  they,  sleeping  the  same  sleep  that  night, 
which  was  indeed  intolerable,  and  which  came  upon 
them  out  of  the  bottoms  of  inevitable  hell, 

"  '  Were  partly  vexed  with  monstrous  appari 
tions,  and  partly  fainted  ;  for  a  sudden  fear  and 
not  looked  for,  came  upon  them. 

"  '  For  neither  might  the  corner  which  held  them 
keep  them  from  fear ;  but  noises,  as  of  waters  fall 
ing  down,  sounded  about  them,  and  sad  visions 
appeared  unto  them,  with  heavy  countenances. 

"  '  Whether  it  were  a  whistling  wind,  or  a  melo 
dious  voice  of  birds  among  the  spreading  branches, 
or  a  pleasing  fall  of  water  running  violently ; 


298  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

"  '  Or,  a  terrible  sound  of  stones  cast  down,  or, 
a  running  that  could  not  be  seen,  of  skipping 
beasts,  or  a  roaring  voice  of  most  savage  wild 
beasts,  or  a  rebounding  echo  from  the  hollow  moun 
tains  :  these  things  made  them  to  swoon  for  fear.' a 

"  That  creative  faculty  of  the  eye,  upon  which 
Mr.  De  Quincey  dwells  so  strongly,  I  have  myself 
experienced.  Indeed,  it  has  been  the  principal 
cause  of  suffering  which  has  connected  itself  with 
my  habit  of  opium  eating.  It  developed  itself  at 
first  in  a  recurrence  of  the  childish  faculty  of 
painting  upon  the  darkness  whatever  suggested 
itself  to  the  mind ;  anon,  those  figures  which  had 
before  been  called  up  only  at  will  became  the 
cause,  instead  of  the  effect,  of  the  mind's  employ 
ment  ;  in  other  words,  they  came  before  me  in  the 
night-time,  like  real  images,  and  independent  of 
any  previous  volition  of  thought.  I  have  often, 
after  retiring  to  my  bed,  seen,  looking  through  the 
thick  wall  of  darkness  round  about  me,  the  faces 
of  those  whom  I  had  not  known  for  years,  nay, 
since  childhood ;  faces,  too,  of  the  dead,  called  up, 
as  it  were,  from  the  church-yard  and  the  wilder 
ness  and  the  deep  waters,  and  betraying  nothing 
of  the  grave's  terrible  secrets.  And  in  the  same 
way,  some  of  the  more  important  personages  I  had 
read  of,  in  history  and  romance,  glided  often  be 
fore  me,  like  an  assembly  of  apparitions,  each  pre 
serving,  amidst  the  multitudinous  combinations  of 
my  visions,  his  own  individuality  and  peculiar 
characteristics.2 

1  Wisdom  of  Solomon,  chapter  xvii. 

2  Vide  Emanuel  Count  Swedenborg-,  Nicolai  of  Berlin's  Account 
of  Spectral  Illusion,  Edinburgh  Phrenological  Journal. 


THE  OPIUM  EATER  299 

"  These  images  were,  as  you  may  suppose,  suffi 
ciently  annoying,  yet  they  came  and  went  without 
exciting  any  emotions  of  terror.  But  a  change  at 
length  came  over  them,  an  awful  distinctness  and 
a  semblance  of  reality,  which,  operating  upon 
nerves  weakened  and  diseased,  shook  the  very 
depths  of  my  spirit  with  a  superstitious  awe,  and 
against  which  reason  and  philosophy,  for  a  time, 
struggled  in  vain. 

"My  mind  had  for  some  days  been  dwelling 
with  considerable  solicitude  upon  an  intimate 
friend,  residing  in  a  distant  city.  I  had  heard 
that  he  was  extremely  ill,  indeed,  that  his  life  was 
despaired  of  ;  and  I  may  mention  that  at  this  pe 
riod  all  my  mind's  operations  were  dilatory ;  there 
were  no  sudden  emotions ;  passion  seemed  ex 
hausted  ;  and  when  once  any  new  train  of  thought 
had  been  suggested,  it  gradually  incorporated  itself 
with  those  which  had  preceded  it,  until  it  finally 
became  sole  and  predominant,  just  as  certain  plants 
of  the  tropical  islands  wind  about  and  blend  with 
and  finally  take  the  place  of  those  of  another  spe 
cies.  And  perhaps  to  this  peculiarity  of  the  men 
tal  economy,  the  gradual  concentring  of  the  mind 
in  a  channel,  narrowing  to  that  point  of  condensa 
tion  where  thought  becomes  sensible  to  sight  as 
well  as  feeling,  may  be  mainly  attributed  the  vision 
I  am  about  to  describe. 

"  I  was  lying  in  my  bed,  listless  and  inert ;  it 
was  broad  day,  for  the  easterly  light  fell  in  strongly 
through  the  parted  curtains.  I  felt,  all  at  once, 
a  strong  curiosity,  blended  with  an  unaccountable 
dread,  to  look  upon  a  small  table  which  stood  near 


300  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

the  bedside.  I  felt  certain  of  seeing  something 
fearful,  and  yet  I  knew  not  what ;  there  was  an 
awe  and  a  fascination  upon  me,  more  dreadful 
from  their  very  vagueness.  I  lay  for  some  time 
hesitating  and  actually  trembling,  until  the  agony 
of  suspense  became  too  strong  for  endurance.  I 
opened  my  eyes  and  fixed  them  upon  the  dreaded 
object.  Upon  the  table  lay  what  seemed  to  me  a 
corpse,  wrapped  about  in  the  wintry  habiliments 
of  the  grave,  the  corpse  of  my  friend.1  For  a 
moment,  the  circumstances  of  time  and  place  were 
forgotten ;  and  the  spectre  seemed  to  me  a  natu 
ral  reality,  at  which  I  might  sorrow,  but  not  won 
der.  The  utter  fallacy  of  this  idea  was  speedily 
detected ;  and  then  I  endeavored  to  consider  the 
present  vision,  like  those  which  had  preceded  it,  a 
mere  delusion,  a  part  of  the  phenomena  of  opium 
eating.  I  accordingly  closed  my  eyes  for  an  in 
stant,  and  then  looked  again  in  full  expectation 
that  the  frightful  object  would  no  longer  be  visi 
ble.  It  was  still  there;  the  body  lay  upon  its 
side  ;  the  countenance  turned  full  towards  me,  — 
calm,  quiet,  even  beautiful,  but  certainly  that  of 
death  : 

'  Ere  yet  Decay's  effacing  fingers 
Had  swept  the  lines  where  Beauty  lingers  ' 

and  the  white  brow,  and  its  light  shadowy  hair, 
and  the  cold,  still  familiar  features  lay  evident 
and  manifest  to  the  influx  of  the  strengthening 

1  William  Hone,  celebrated  for  his  antiquarian  researches,  has 
given  a  distinct  and  highly  interesting  account  of  spectral  illu 
sion,  in  his  own  experience,  in  his  Every  Day  Book.  The  artist 
Cellini  has  made  a  similar  statement. 


THE   OPIUM  EATER  301 

twilight.  A  cold  agony  crept  over  me  ;  I  buried 
my  head  in  the  bed-clothes,  in  a  child-like  fear, 
and  when  I  again  ventured  to  look  up,  the  spectre 
had  vanished.  The  event  made  a  strong  impression 
on  my  mind  ;  and  I  can  scarcely  express  the  feel 
ing  of  relief  which  was  afforded,  a  few  days  after, 
by  a  letter  from  the  identical  friend  in  question, 
informing  me  of  his  recovery  of  health. 

"  It  would  be  a  weary  task,  and  one  which  you 
would  no  doubt  thank  me  for  declining,  to  detail 
the  circumstances  of  a  hundred  similar  visitations, 
most  of  which  were,  in  fact,  but  different  combina 
tions  of  the  same  illusion.  One  striking  excep 
tion  I  will  mention,  as  it  relates  to  some  passages 
of  my  early  history  which  you  have  already  heard. 

"  I  have  never  seen  Mrs.  H since  her  mar 
riage.  Time,  and  the  continued  action  of  opium, 
deadening  the  old  sensibilities  of  the  heart  and 
awakening  new  ones,  have  effected  a  wonderful 
change  in  my  feelings  towards  her.  Little  as  the 
confession  may  argue  in  favor  of  my  early  passion, 
I  seldom  think  of  her,  save  with  a  feeling  very 
closely  allied  to  indifference.  Yet  I  have  often 
seen  her  in  my  spectral  illusions,  young  and  beau 
tiful  as  ever,  but  always  under  circumstances  which 
formed  a  wide  contrast  between  her  spectral  ap 
pearance  and  all  my  recollections  of  the  real  per 
son.  The  spectral  face,  which  I  often  saw  looking 
in  upon  me,  in  my  study,  when  the  door  was  ajar, 
and  visible  only  in  the  uncertain  lamplight,  or 
peering  over  me  in  the  moonlight  solitude  of  my 
bed-chamber,  when  I  was  just  waking  from  sleep, 
was  uniformly  subject  to,  and  expressive  of,  some 


302  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

terrible  hate,  or  yet  more  terrible  anguish.  Its 
first  appearance  was  startling  in  the  extreme.  It 
was  the  face  of  one  of  the  fabled  furies  :  the  de 
mon  glared  in  the  eye,  the  nostril  was  dilated,  the 
pale  lip  compressed,  and  the  brow  bent  and  dark 
ened  ;  yet  above  all,  and  mingled  with  all,  the  su 
premacy  of  human  beauty  was  manifest,  as  if  the 
dream  of  Eastern  superstition  had  been  realized, 
and  a  fierce  and  foul  spirit  had  sought  out  and  ani 
mated  into  a  fiendish  existence  some  beautiful 
sleeper  of  the  grave.  The  other  expression  of  the 
countenance  of  the  apparition,  that  of  agony,  I 
accounted  for  on  rational  principles.  Some  years 
ago  I  saw,  and  was  deeply  affected  by,  a  series  of 
paintings  representing  the  tortures  of  a  Jew  in  the 
Holy  Inquisition ;  and  the  expression  of  pain  in 
the  countenance  of  the  victim  I  at  once  recognized 
in  that  of  the  apparition,  rendered  yet  more  dis 
tressing  by  the  feminine  and  beautiful  features 
upon  which  it  rested. 

"  I  am  not  naturally  superstitious ;  but,  shaken 
and  clouded  as  my  mind  had  been  by  the  use  of 
opium,  I  could  not  wholly  divest  it  of  fear  when 
these  phantoms  beset  me.  Yet,  on  all  other  occa 
sions,  save  that  of  their  immediate  presence,  I 
found  no  difficulty  in  assigning  their  existence  to 
a  diseased  state  of  the  bodily  organs,  and  a  corre 
sponding  sympathy  of  the  mind,  rendering  it  ca 
pable  of  receiving  and  reflecting  the  false,  fantastic, 
and  unnatural  images  presented  to  it. 1 

1  One  of  our  most  celebrated  medical  writers  considers  spectral 
illusion  a  disease,  in  which  false  perceptions  take  place  in  some 
of  the  senses ;  thus,  when  the  excitement  of  motion  is  produced 


THE   OPIUM  EATER  303 

I  recollected  that  the  mode  of  exorcism  which 
was  successfully  adopted  by  Mcolai  of  Berlin, 
when  haunted  by  similar  fantasies,  was  a  resort  to 
the  simple  process  of  blood-letting.  I  accordingly 
made  trial  of  it,  but  without  the  desired  effect. 
Fearful,  from  the  representations  of  my  physicians, 
and  from  some  of  my  own  sensations,  that  the 
almost  daily  recurrence  of  my  visions  might  ulti 
mately  lead  to  insanity,  I  came  to  the  resolution 
of  reducing  my  daily  allowance  of  opium  ;  and, 
confining  myself,  with  the  most  rigid  pertinacity, 
to  a  quantity  not  exceeding  one  third  of  what  I  had 
formerly  taken,  I  became  speedily  sensible  of  a 
most  essential  change  in  my  condition.  A  state 
of  comparative  health,  mental  and  physical  with 
calmer  sleep  and  a  more  natural  exercise  of  the 

in  a  particular  organ,  that  organ  does  not  vibrate  with  the  im 
pression  made  upon  it,  but  communicates  it  to  another  part  on 
which  a  similar  impression  was  formerly  made.  Nicolai  states 
that  he  made  his  illusion  a  source  of  philosophical  amusement. 
The  spectres  which  haunted  him  came  in  the  day  time  as  well  as 
the  night,  and  frequently  when  he  was  surrounded  by  his  friends  ; 
the  ideal  images  mingling  with  the  real  ones,  and  visible  only  to 
himself.  Bernard  Barton,  the  celebrated  Quaker  poet,  describes 
an  illusion  of  this  nature  in  a  manner  peculiarly  striking :  — 

"  I  only  knew  thee  as  thou  wert, 
A  being  not  of  earth  ! 


"  I  marvelled  much  they  could  not  see 

Thou  comest  from  above  : 
And  often  to  myself  I  said, 

'  How  can  they  thus  approach  the  dead  ?  ' 

"  But  though  all  these,  with  fondness  warm, 

Said  welcome  o'er  and  o'er, 
Still  that  expressive  shade  or  form 

Was  silent,  as  before  ! 
And  yet  its  stillness  never  brought 
To  them  one  hesitating  thought." 


304  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

organs  of  vision,  succeeded.  I  have  made  many 
attempts  at  a  further  reduction,  but  have  been  uni 
formly  unsuccessful,  owing  to  the  extreme  and 
almost  unendurable  agony  occasioned  thereby. 

"  The  peculiar  creative  faculty  of  the  eye,  the 
fearful  gift  of  a  diseased  vision,  still  remains,  but 
materially  weakened  and  divested  of  its  former 
terrors.  My  mind  has  recovered  in  some  degree 
its  shaken  and  suspended  faculties.  But  happi 
ness,  the  buoyant  and  elastic  happiness  of  earlier 
days,  has  departed  forever.  Although,  apparently, 
a  practical  disciple  of  Behmen,  I  am  no  believer  in 
his  visionary  creed.  Quiet  is  not  happiness ;  nor 
can  the  absence  of  all  strong  and  painful  emo 
tion  compensate  for  the  weary  heaviness  of  inert 
existence,  passionless,  dreamless,  changeless.  The 
mind  requires  the  excitement  of  active  and  change 
ful  thought ;  the  intellectual  fountain,  like  the  pool 
of  Bethesda,  has  a  more  healthful  influence  when 
its  deep  waters  are  troubled.  There  may,  indeed, 
be  happiness  in  those  occasional  '  sabbaths  of  the 
soul,'  when  calmness,  like  a  canopy,  overshadows 
it,  and  the  mind,  for  a  brief  season,  eddies  quietly 
round  and  round,  instead  of  sweeping  onward; 
but  none  can  exist  in  the  long  and  weary  stagna 
tion  of  feeling,  the  silent,  the  monotonous,  never- 
ending  calm,  broken  by  neither  hope  nor  fear." 


THE  PROSELYTES. 

[1833.] 

THE  student  sat  at  his  books.  All  the  day  he 
had  been  poring  over  an  old  and  time-worn  vol 
ume  ;  and  the  evening  found  him  still  absorbed  in 
its  contents.  It  was  one  of  that  interminable 
series  of  controversial  volumes,  containing  the  theo 
logical  speculations  of  the  ancient  fathers  of  the 
Church.  With  the  patient  perseverance  so  char 
acteristic  of  his  countrymen,  he  was  endeavoring 
to  detect  truth  amidst  the  numberless  inconsisten 
cies  of  heated  controversy  ;  to  reconcile  jarring 
propositions  ;  to  search  out  the  thread  of  scholastic 
argument  amidst  the  rant  of  prejudice  and  the  sal 
lies  of  passion,  and  the  coarse  vituperations  of  a 
spirit  of  personal  bitterness,  but  little  in  accord 
ance  with  the  awful  gravity  of  the  question  at 
issue. 

Wearied  and  baffled  in  his  researches,  he  at 
length  closed  the  volume,  and  rested  his  care-worn 
forehead  upon  his  hand.  "  What  avail,"  he  said, 
"  these  long  and  painful  endeavors,  these  midnight 
vigils,  these  weary  studies,  before  which  heart  and 
flesh  are  failing  ?  What  have  I  gained  ?  I  have 
pushed  my  researches  wide  and  far ;  my  life  has 
been  one  long  and  weary  lesson ;  I  have  shut  out 
from  me  the  busy  and  beautiful  world;  I  have 


306  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

chastened  every  youthful  impulse :  and  at  an  age 
when  the  heart  should  be  lightest  and  the  pulse 
the  freest,  I  am  grave  and  silent  and  sorrowful, 
and  the  frost  of  a  premature  age  is  gathering 
around  my  heart.  Amidst  these  ponderous  tomes, 
surrounded  by  the  venerable  receptacles  of  old 
wisdom,  breathing,  instead  of  the  free  air  of 
heaven,  the  sepulchral  dust  of  antiquity,  I  have 
become  assimilated  to  the  objects  around  me  ;  my 
very  nature  has  undergone  a  metamorphosis  of 
which  Pythagoras  never  dreamed.  I  am  no  longer 
a  reasoning  creature,  looking  at  everything  within 
the  circle  of  human  investigation  with  a  clear  and 
self-sustained  vision,  but  the  cheated  follower  of 
metaphysical  absurdities,  a  mere  echo  of  scholastic 
subtilty.  God  knows  that  my  aim  has  been  a 
lofty  and  pure  one,  that  I  have  buried  myself  in 
this  living  tomb,  and  counted  the  health  of  this 
His  feeble  and  outward  image  as  nothing  in  com 
parison  with  that  of  the  immortal  and  inward  rep 
resentation  and  shadow  of  His  own  Infinite  Mind  ; 
that  I  have  toiled  through  what  the  world  calls 
wisdom,  the  lore  of  the  old  fathers  and  time-hon 
ored  philosophy,  not  for  the  dream  of  power  and 
gratified  ambition,  not  for  the  alchemist's  gold  or 
life-giving  elixir,  but  with  an  eye  single  to  that 
which  I  conceived  to  be  the  most  fitting  object  of 
a  godlike  spirit,  the  discovery  of  Truth,  —  truth 
perfect  and  unclouded,  truth  in  its  severe  and 
perfect  beauty,  truth  as  it  sits  in  awe  and  holiness 
in  the  presence  of  its  Original  and  Source  ! 

"  Was  my  aim  too  lofty  ?     It  cannot  be ;  for 
my  Creator   has  given  me  a  spirit  which  would 


THE  PROSELYTES  307 

spurn  a  meaner  one.  I  have  studied  to  act  in 
accordance  with  His  will ;  yet  have  I  felt  all 
along  like  one  walking  in  blindness.  I  have  lis 
tened  to  the  living  champions  of  the  Church ;  I 
have  pored  over  the  remains  of  the  dead ;  but 
doubt  and  heavy  darkness  still  rest  upon  my  path 
way.  I  find  contradiction  where  I  had  looked  for 
harmony  ;  ambiguity  where  I  had  expected  clear- 
ness ;  zeal  taking  the  place  of  reason  ;  anger,  intol 
erance,  personal  feuds  and  sectarian  bitterness,  in 
terminable  discussions  and  weary  controversies ; 
while  infinite  Truth,  for  which  I  have  been  seek 
ing,  lies  still  beyond,  or  seen,  if  at  all,  only  by 
transient  and  unsatisfying  glimpses,  obscured  and 
darkened  by  miserable  subtilties  and  cabalistic 
mysteries." 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  a  servant 
with  a  letter.  The  student  broke  its  well-known 
seal,  and  read,  in  a  delicate  chirography,  the  fol 
lowing  words :  — 

"DEAR  ERNEST,  —  A  stranger  from  the  Eng 
lish  Kingdom,  of  gentle  birth  and  education,  hath 
visited  me  at  the  request  of  the  good  Princess 
Elizabeth  of  the  Palatine.  He  is  a  preacher  of 
the  new  faith,  a  zealous  and  earnest  believer  in  the 
gifts  of  the  Spirit,  but  not  like  John  de  Labadie 
or  the  lady  Schurmans.1  He  speaks  like  one  sent 
on  a  message  from  heaven,  a  message  of  wisdom 
and  salvation.  Come,  Ernest,  and  see  him  ;  for  he 
hath  but  a  brief  hour  to  tarry  with  us.  Who 
knoweth  but  that  this  stranger  may  be  commis- 

1  J.  de  Labadie,  Anna  Maria  Schurmans,  and  others,  dissenters 
from  the  French  Protestants,  established  themselves  in  Holland, 
\670. 


308  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

sioned  to  lead  us  to  that  which  we  have  so  long 
and  anxiously  sought  for,  —  the  truth  as  it  is  in 
God.  ELEONORA." 

"  Now  may  Heaven  bless  the  sweet  enthusiast  for 
this  interruption  of  my  bitter  reflections !  "  said  the 
student,  in  the  earnest  tenderness  of  impassioned 
feeling.  "  She  knows  how  gladly  I  shall  obey  her 
summons;  she  knows  how  readily  I  shall  forsake 
the  dogmas  of  our  wisest  schoolmen,  to  obey  the 
slightest  wishes  of  a  heart  pure  and  generous  as 
hers." 

He  passed  hastily  through  one  of  the  principal 
streets  of  the  city  to  the  dwelling  of  the  lady, 
Eleonora. 

In  a  large  and  gorgeous  apartment  sat  the  Eng 
lishman,  his  plain  and  simple  garb  contrasting 
strongly  with  the  richness  and  luxury  around  him. 
He  was  apparently  quite  young,  and  of  a  tall  and 
commanding  figure.  His  countenance  was  calm  and 
benevolent ;  it  bore  no  traces  of  passion;  care  had 
not  marked  it ;  there  was  a  holy  serenity  in  its 
expression,  which  seemed  a  token  of  that  inward 
"  peace  which  passeth  all  understanding." 

"  And  this  is  thy  friend,  Eleonora  ?  "  said  the 
stranger,  as  he  offered  his  hand  to  Ernest.  "  I 
hear,"  he  said,  addressing  the  latter,  "  thou  hast 
been  a  hard  student  and  a  lover  of  philosophy." 

"  I  am  but  a  humble  inquirer  after  Truth,"  re 
plied  Ernest. 

"  From  whence  hast  thou  sought  it  ?  " 

"  From  the  sacred  volume,  from  the  lore  of  the 
old  fathers,  from  the  fountains  of  philosophy,  and 
from  my  own  brief  experience  of  human  life." 


THE   PROSELYTES  309 

"  And  hast  thou  attained  thy  object  ?  " 
"  Alas,  no !  "  replied  the  student ;  "  I  have  thus 
far  toiled  in  vain." 

"  Ah !  thus  must  the  children  of  this  world  ever 
toil,  wearily,  wearily,  but  in  vain.  We  grasp  at 
shadows,  we  grapple  with  the  fashionless  air,  we 
walk  in  the  blindness  of  our  own  vain  imaginations, 
we  compass  heaven  and  earth  for  our  objects,  and 
marvel  that  we  find  them  not.  The  truth  which  is 
of  God,  the  crown  of  wisdom,  the  pearl  of  exceed 
ing  price,  demands  not  this  vain-glorious  research ; 
easily  to  be  entreated,  it  lieth  within  the  reach  of 
all.  The  eye  of  the  humblest  spirit  may  discern  it. 
For  He  who  respecteth  not  the  persons  of  His  chil 
dren  hath  not  set  it  afar  off,  unapproachable  save 
to  the  proud  and  lofty ;  but  hath  made  its  refreshing 
fountains  to  murmur,  as  it  were,  at  the  very  door 
of  our  hearts.  But  in  the  encumbering  hurry  of 
the  world  we  perceive  it  not ;  in  the  noise  of  our 
daily  vanities  we  hear  not  the  waters  of  Siloah 
which  go  softly.  We  look  widely  abroad ;  we  lose 
ourselves  in  vain  speculation ;  we  wander  in  the 
crooked  paths  of  those  who  have  gone  before  us ; 
yea,  in  the  language  of  one  of  the  old  fathers,  we 
ask  the  earth  and  it  replieth  not,  we  question  the 
sea  and  its  inhabitants,  we  turn  to  the  sun,  and  the 
moon,  and  the  stars  of  heaven,  and  they  may  not 
satisfy  us ;  we  ask  our  eyes,  and  they  cannot  see,  and 
our  ears,  and  they  cannot  hear ;  we  turn  to  books, 
and  they  delude  us ;  we  seek  philosophy,  and  no 
response  cometh  from  its  dead  and  silent  learning.1 
It  is  not  in  the  sky  above,  nor  in  the  air  around, 

1  August.  Soliloq.   Cap.   XXXI.    "  Interrog-avi  Terram,"  etc. 


310  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

nor  in  the  earth  beneath ;  it  is  in  our  own  spirits,  it 
lives  within  us ;  and  if  we  would  find  it,  like  the 
lost  silver  of  the  woman  of  the  parable,  we  must 
look  at  home,  to  the  inward  temple,  which  the  in 
ward  eye  discovereth,  and  wherein  the  spirit  of  all 
truth  is  manifested.  The  voice  of  that  spirit  is  still 
and  small,  and  the  light  about  it  shineth  in  dark 
ness.  But  truth  is  there  ;  and  if  we  seek  it  in  low 
humility,  in  a  patient  waiting  upon  its  author,  with 
a  giving  up  of  our  natural  pride  of  knowledge,  a 
seducing  of  self,  a  quiet  from  all  outward  endeavor, 
it  will  assuredly  be  revealed  and  fully  made  known. 
For  as  the  angel  rose  of  old  from  the  altar  of  Ma- 
noah  even  so  shall  truth  arise  from  the  humbling 
sacrifice  of  self-knowledge  and  human  vanity,  in  all 
its  eternal  and  ineffable  beauty. 

"  Seekest  thou,  like  Pilate,  after  truth  ?  Look 
thou  within.  The  holy  principle  is  there  ;  that  in 
whose  light  the  pure  hearts  of  all  time  have  rejoiced. 
It  is  4  the  great  light  of  ages '  of  which  Pythagoras 
speaks,  the  '  good  spirit '  of  Socrates ;  the  '  divine 
mind 'of  Anaxagoras  ;  the  'perfect  principle'  of 
Plato  ;  the  '  infallible  and  immortal  law,  and  divine 
power  of  reason'  of  Philo.  It  is  the  'unbegotten 
principle  and  source  of  all  light,'  whereof  Timaeus 
testifieth  ;  the  '  interior  guide  of  the  soul  and  ever 
lasting  foundation  of  virtue,'  spoken  of  by  Plutarch. 
Yea,  it  was  the  hope  and  guide  of  those  virtuous 
Gentiles,  who,  doing  by  nature  the  things  contained 
in  the  law,  became  a  law  unto  themselves. 

"  Look  to  thyself.  Turn  thine  eye  inward. 
Heed  not  the  opinion  of  the  world.  Lean  not 
upon  the  broken  reed  of  thy  philosophy,  thy  ver- 


THE  PROSELYTES  311 

bal  orthodoxy,  thy  skill  in  tongues,  thy  knowledge 
of  the  Fathers.  Remember  that  truth  was  seen 
by  the  humble  fishermen  of  Galilee,  and  overlooked 
by  the  High  Priest  of  the  Temple,  by  the  Rabbi 
and  the  Pharisee.  Thou  canst  not  hope  to  reach 
it  by  the  metaphysics  of  Fathers,  Councils,  School 
men,  and  Universities.  It  lies  not  in  the  high 
places  of  human  learning ;  it  is  in  the  silent  sanc 
tuary  of  thy  own  heart ;  for  He,  who  gave  thee  an 
immortal  soul,  hath  filled  it  with  a  portion  of  that 
truth  which  is  the  image  of  His  own  unapproach 
able  light.  The  voice  of  that  truth  is  within  thee  5 
heed  thou  its  whisper.  A  light  is  kindled  in  thy 
soul,  which,  if  thou  carefully  heedest  it,  shall  shine 
more  and  more  even  unto  the  perfect  day." 

The  stranger  paused,  and  the  student  melted 
into  tears.  "  Stranger ! "  he  said,  "  thou  hast 
taken  a  weary  weight  from  my  heart,  and  a  heavy 
veil  from  my  eyes.  I  feel  that  thou  hast  revealed 
a  wisdom  which  is  not  of  this  world." 

"  Nay,  I  am  but  a  humble  instrument  in  the 
hand  of  Him  who  is  the  fountain  of  all  truth,  and 
the  beginning  and  the  end  of  all  wisdom.  May 
the  message  which  I  have  borne  thee  be  sanctified 
to  thy  well-being." 

"Oh,  heed  him,  Ernest !"  said  the  lady.  "It 
is  the  holy  truth  which  has  been  spoken.  Let  us 
rejoice  in  this  truth,  and,  forgetting  the  world, 
live  only  for  it." 

"  Oh,  may  He  who  watcheth  over  all  His  chil 
dren  keep  thee  in  faith  of  thy  resolution !  "  said 
the  Preacher,  fervently.  "  Humble  yourselves  to 
receive  instruction,  and  it  shall  be  given  you. 


312  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

Turn  away  now  in  your  youth  from  the  corrupting 
pleasures  of  the  world,  heed  not  its  hollow  van 
ities,  and  that  peace  which  is  not  such  as  the  world 
giveth,  the  peace  of  God  which  passeth  all  under 
standing,  shall  be  yours.  Yet,  let  not  yours  be 
the  world's  righteousness,  the  world's  peace,  which 
shuts  itself  up  in  solitude.  Encloister  not  the 
body,  but  rather  shut  up  the  soul  from  sin.  Live 
in  the  world,  but  overcome  it :  lead  a  life  of  purity 
in  the  face  of  its  allurements:  learn,  from  the 
holy  principle  of  truth  within  you,  to  do  justly  in 
the  sight  of  its  Author,  to  meet  reproach  without 
anger,  to  live  without  offence,  to  love  those  that 
offend  you,  to  visit  the  widow  and  the  fatherless, 
and  keep  yourselves  unspotted  from  the  world." 

"  Eleonora !  "  said  the  humbled  student,  "  truth 
is  plain  before  us  ;  can  we  follow  its  teachings  ? 
Alas !  canst  thou,  the  daughter  of  a  noble  house, 
forget  the  glory  of  thy  birth,  and,  in  the  beauty  of 
thy  years,  tread  in  that  lowly  path,  which  the  wis 
dom  of  the  world  accounteth  foolishness  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Ernest,  rejoicingly  can  I  do  it !  "  said  the 
lady ;  and  the  bright  glow  of  a  lofty  purpose  gave 
a  spiritual  expression  to  her  majestic  beauty. 
"  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  that  He  hath  vis 
ited  us  in  mercy !  " 

"  Lady !  "  said  the  Preacher,  "  the  day-star  of 
truth  has  arisen  in  thy  heart ;  follow  thou  its  light 
even  unto  salvation.  Live  an  harmonious  life  to 
the  curious  make  and  frame  of  thy  creation  ;  and 
let  the  beauty  of  thy  person  teach  thee  to  beautify 
thy  mind  with  holiness,  the  ornament  of  the  be 
loved  of  God.  Remember  that  the  King  of  Zion's 
daughter  is  all-glorious  within ;  and  if  thy  soul 


THE  PROSELYTES  313 

excel,  thy  body  will  only  set  off  the  lustre  of  thy 
mind.  Let  not  the  spirit  of  this  world,  its  cares 
and  its  many  vanities,  its  fashions  and  discourse, 
prevail  over  the  civility  of  thy  nature.  Remember 
that  sin  brought  the  first  coat,  and  thou  wilt  have 
little  reason  to  be  proud  of  dress  or  the  adorning 
of  thy  body.  Seek  rather  the  enduring  ornament 
of  a  meek  and  quiet  spirit,  the  beauty  and  the 
purity  of  the  altar  of  God's  temple,  rather  than 
the  decoration  of  its  outward  walls.  For,  as  the 
Spartan  monarch  said  of  old  to  his  daughter,  when 
he  restrained  her  from  wearing  the  rich  dresses  of 
Sicily,  4  Thou  wilt  seem  more  lovely  to  me  with 
out  them,'  so  shalt  thou  seem,  in  thy  lowliness  and 
humility,  more  lovely  in  the  sight  of  Heaven  and 
in  the  eyes  of  the  pure  of  earth.  Oh,  preserve  in 
their  freshness  thy  present  feelings,  wait  in  humble 
resignation  and  in  patience,  even  if  it  be  all  thy 
days,  for  the  manifestations  of  Him  who  as  a 
father  careth  for  all  His  children." 

"  I  will  endeavor,  I  will  endeavor ! "  said  the 
lady,  humbled  in  spirit,  and  in  tears. 

The  stranger  took  the  hand  of  each.  "Fare 
well  !  "  he  said,  "  I  must  needs  depart,  for  I  have 
much  work  before  me.  God's  peace  be  with  you  ; 
and  that  love  be  around  you,  which  has  been  to 
me  as  the  green  pasture  and  the  still  water,  the 
shadow  in  a  weary  land." 

And  the  stranger  went  his  way ;  but  the  lady 
and  her  lover,  in  all  their  after  life,  and  amidst 
the  trials  and  persecutions  which  they  were  called 
to  suffer  in  the  cause  of  truth,  remembered  with 
joy  and  gratitude  the  instructions  of  the  pure- 
hearted  and  eloquent  William  Penn. 


DAVID  MATSON. 

Published  originally  in  Our  Young  Folks,  1865. 

WHO  of  my  young  friends  have  read  the  sor 
rowful  story  of  "Enoch  Arden,"  so  sweetly  and 
simply  told  by  the  great  English  poet  ?  It  is  the 
story  of  a  man  who  went  to  sea,  leaving  behind  a 
sweet  young  wife  and  little  daughter.  He  was 
cast  away  on  a  desert  island,  where  he  remained 
several  years,  when  he  was  discovered  and  taken 
off  by  a  passing  vessel.  Coming  back  to  his  native 
town,  he  found  his  wife  married  to  an  old  play 
mate,  a  good  man,  rich  and  honored,  and  with 
whom  she  was  living  happily.  The  poor  man,  un 
willing  to  cause  her  pain  and  perplexity,  resolved 
not  to  make  himself  known  to  her,  and  lived  and 
died  alone.  The  poem  has  reminded  me  of  a  very 
similar  story  of  my  own  New  England  neighbor 
hood,  which  I  have  often  heard,  and  which  I  will 
try  to  tell,  not  in  poetry,  like  Alfred  Tennyson's, 
but  in  my  own  poor  prose.  I  can  assure  my  read 
ers  that  in  its  main  particulars  it  is  a  true  tale. 

One  bright  summer  morning,  not  more  than 
fourscore  years  ago,  David  Matson,  with  his 
young  wife  and  his  two  healthy,  barefooted  boys, 
stood  on  the  bank  of  the  river  near  their  dwelling. 
They  were  waiting  for  Pelatiah  Curtis  to  come 
round  the  point  with  his  wherry,  and  take  the  hus- 


DAVID  MATSON  315 

band  and  father  to  the  port,  a  few  miles  below. 
The  Lively  Turtle  was  about  to  sail  on  a  voyage 
to  Spain,  and  David  was  to  go  in  her  as  mate. 
They  stood  there  in  the  level  morning  sunshine 
talking  cheerfully  ;  but  had  you  been  near  enough, 
you  could  have  seen  tears  in  Anna  Matson's  blue 
eyes,  for  she  loved  her  husband  and  knew  there 
was  always  danger  on  the  sea.  And  David's  bluff, 
cheery  voice  trembled  a  little  now  and  then,  for 
the  honest  sailor  loved  his  snug  home  on  the  Mer- 
rimac,  with  the  dear  wife  and  her  pretty  boys. 
But  presently  the  wherry  came  alongside,  and 
David  was  just  stepping  into  it,  when  he  turned 
back  to  kiss  his  wife  and  children  once  more. 

"  In  with  you,  man,"  said  Pelatiah  Curtis. 
"  There  is  no  time  for  kissing  and  such  fooleries 
when  the  tide  serves." 

And  so  they  parted.  Anna  and  the  boys  went 
back  to  their  home,  and  David  to  the  Port,  whence 
he  sailed  off  in  the  Lively  Turtle.  And  months 
passed,  autumn  followed  summer,  and  winter  the 
autumn,  and  then  spring  came,  and  anon  it  was 
summer  on  the  river-side,  and  he  did  not  come 
back.  And  another  year  passed,  and  then  the  old 
sailors  and  fishermen  shook  their  heads  solemnly, 
and  said  that  the  Lively  Turtle  was  a  lost  ship, 
and  would  never  come  back  to  port.  And  poor 
Anna  had  her  bombazine  gown  dyed  black,  and 
her  straw  bonnet  trimmed  in  mourning  rib 
bons,  and  thenceforth  she  was  known  only  as  the 
Widow  Matson. 

And  how  was  it  all  this  time  with  David  him 
self? 


316  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

Now  you  must  know  that  the  Mohammedan 
people  of  Algiers  and  Tripoli,  and  Mogadore  and 
Bailee,  on  the  Barbary  coast,  had  been  for  a  long 
time  in  the  habit  of  fitting  out  galleys  and  armed 
boats  to  seize  upon  the  merchant  vessels  of  Chris 
tian  nations,  and  make  slaves  of  their  crews  and 
passengers,  just  as  men  calling  themselves  Chris 
tians  in  America  were  sending  vessels  to  Africa  to 
catch  black  slaves  for  their  plantations.  The 
Lively  Turtle  fell  into  the  hands  of  one  of  these 
sea-robbers,  and  the  crew  were  taken  to  Algiers, 
and  sold  in  the  market  place  as  slaves,  poor  David 
Matson  among  the  rest. 

When  a  boy  he  had  learned  the  trade  of  ship- 
carpenter  with  his  father  on  the  Merrimac  ;  and 
now  he  was  set  to  work  in  the  dock-yards.  His 
master,  who  was  naturally  a  kind  man,  did  not 
overwork  him.  He  had  daily  his  three  loaves  of 
bread,  and  when  his  clothing  was  worn  out,  its 
place  was  supplied  by  the  coarse  cloth  of  wool  and 
camel's  hair  woven  by  the  Berber  women.  Three 
hours  before  sunset  he  was  released  from  work, 
and  Friday,  which  is  the  Mohammedan  Sabbath, 
was  a  day  of  entire  rest.  Once  a  year,  at  the  sea 
son  called  Ramadan,  he  was  left  at  leisure  for 
a  whole  week.  So  time  went  on,  —  days,  weeks, 
months,  and  years.  His  dark  hair  became  gray. 
He  still  dreamed  of  his  old  home  on  the  Merri 
mac,  and  of  his  good  Anna  and  the  boys.  He 
wondered  whether  they  yet  lived,  what  they 
thought  of  him,  and  what  they  were  doing.  The 
hope  of  ever  seeing  them  again  grew  fainter  and 
fainter,  and  at  last  nearly  died  out ;  and  he  re 
signed  himself  to  his  fate  as  a  slave  for  life. 


DAVID  MATSON  317 

But  one  day  a  handsome  middle-aged  gentle 
man,  in  the  dress  of  one  of  his  own  countrymen, 
attended  by  a  great  officer  of  the  Dey,  entered  the 
ship-yard,  and  called  up  before  him  the  American 
captives.  The  stranger  was  none  other  than  Joel 
Barlow,  Commissioner  of  the  United  States  to  pro 
cure  the  liberation  of  slaves  belonging  to  thai- 
government.  He  took  the  men  by  the  hand  as 
they  came  up,  and  told  them  that  they  were  free. 
As  you  might  expect,  the  poor  fellows  were  very 
grateful ;  some  laughed,  some  wept  for  joy,  some 
shouted  and  sang,  and  threw  up  their  caps,  while 
others,  with  David  Matson  among  them,  knelt 
down  on  the  chips,  and  thanked  God  for  the  great 
deliverance. 

"  This  is  a  very  affecting  scene,"  said  the  com 
missioner,  wiping  his  eyes.  "  I  must  keep  the  im 
pression  of  it  for  my  4  Columbiad  ' ;  "  and  drawing 
out  his  tablet,  he  proceeded  to  write  on  the  spot  an 
apostrophe  to  Freedom,  which  afterwards  found  a 
place  in  his  great  epic. 

David  Matson  had  saved  a  little  money  during 
his  captivity  by  odd  jobs  and  work  on  holidays. 
He  got  a  passage  to  Malaga,  where  he  bought  a 
nice  shawl  for  his  wife  and  a  watch  for  each  of  his 
boys.  He  then  went  to  the  quay,  where  an  Ameri 
can  ship  was  lying  just  ready  to  sail  for  Boston. 

Almost  the  first  man  he  saw  on  board  was  Pela- 
tiah  Curtis,  who  had  rowed  him  down  to  the  port 
seven  years  before.  He  found  that  his  old  neigh 
bor  did  not  know  him,  so  changed  was  he  with  his 
long  beard  and  Moorish  dress,  whereupon,  without 
telling  his  name,  he  began  to  put  questions  about 


318  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

his  old  home,  and  finally  asked  him  if  he  knew  a 
Mrs.  Matson. 

"  I  rather  think  I  do,"  said  Pelatiah ;  "she's 
my  wife." 

"  Your  wife  !  "  cried  the  other.  "  She  is  mine 
before  God  and  man.  I  am  David  Matson,  and 
she  is  the  mother  of  my  children." 

"  And  mine  too  !  "  said  Pelatiah.  "  I  left  her 
with  a  baby  in  her  arms.  If  you  are  David  Mat- 
son,  your  right  to  her  is  outlawed  ;  at  any  rate  she 
is  mine,  and  I  am  not  the  man  to  give  her  up." 

44  God  is  great !  "  said  poor  David  Matson,  un 
consciously  repeating  the  familiar  words  of  Mos 
lem  submission.  "  His  will  be  done.  I  loved  her, 
but  I  shall  never  see  her  again.  Give  these,  with 
my  blessing,  to  the  good  woman  and  the  boys." 
and  he  handed  over,  with  a  sigh,  the  little  bundle 
containing  the  gifts  for  his  wife  and  children. 

He  shook  hands  with  his  rival.  "  Pelatiah,"  he 
said,  looking  back  as  he  left  the  ship,  "  be  kind  to 
Anna  and  my  boys." 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir !  "  responded  the  sailor  in  a  care 
less  tone.  He  watched  the  poor  man  passing 
slowly  up  the  narrow  street  until  out  of  sight. 
"  It 's  a  hard  case  for  old  David,"  he  said,  helping 
himself  to  a  fresh  quid  of  tobacco,  "  but  I  'm  glad 
I  've  seen  the  last  of  him." 

When  Pelatiah  Curtis  reached  home  he  told 
Anna  the  story  of  her  husband  and  laid  his  gifts  in 
her  lap.  She  did  not  shriek  nor  faint,  for  she  was 
a  healthy  woman  with  strong  nerves  ;  but  she  stole 
away  by  herself  and  wept  bitterly.  She  lived 
many  years  after,  but  could  never  be  persuaded  to 


DAVID  MATSON  319 

wear  the  pretty  shawl  which  the  husband  of  her 
youth  had  sent  as  his  farewell  gift.  There  is, 
however,  a  tradition  that,  in  accordance  with  her 
dying  wish,  it  was  wrapped  about  her  poor  old 
shoulders  in  the  coffin,  and  buried  with  her. 

The  little  old  bull's-eye  watch,  which  is  still  in 
the  possession  of  one  of  her  grandchildren,  is  now 
all  that  remains  to  tell  of  David  Matson,  —  the  lost 
man. 


THE  FISH  I  DID  N'T  CATCH. 

Published  originally  in  The  Little  Pilgrim,  Philadelphia,  1843. 

OUR  old  homestead  (the  house  was  very  old  for 
a  new  country,  having  been  built  about  the  time 
that  the  Prince  of  Orange  drove  out  James  the 
Second)  nestled  under  a  long  range  of  hills  which 
stretched  off  to  the  west.  It  was  surrounded  by 
woods  in  all  directions  save  to  the  southeast,  where 
a  break  in  the  leafy  wall  revealed  a  vista  of  low 
green  meadows,  picturesque  with  wooded  islands 
and  jutting  capes  of  upland.  Through  these,  a 
small  brook,  noisy  enough  as  it  foamed,  rippled, 
and  laughed  down  its  rocky  falls  by  our  garden- 
side,  wound,  silently  and  scarcely  visible,  to  a  still 
larger  stream,  known  as  the  Country  Brook.  This 
brook  in  its  turn,  after  doing  duty  at  two  or  three 
saw  and  grist  mills,  the  clack  of  which  we  could 
hear  in  still  days  across  the  intervening  woodlands, 
found  its  way  to  the  great  river,  and  the  river  took 
it  up  and  bore  it  down  to  the  great  sea. 

I  have  not  much  reason  for  speaking  well  of 
these  meadows,  or  rather  bogs,  for  they  were  wet 
most  of  the  year ;  but  in  the  early  days  they  were 
highly  prized  by  the  settlers,  as  they  furnished 
natural  mowing  before  the  uplands  could  be  cleared 
of  wood  and  stones  and  laid  down  to  grass.  There 
is  a  tradition  that  the  hay-harvesters  of  two  adjoin- 


THE  FISH  I  DIDN'T  CATCH  321 

ing  towns  quarrelled  about  a  boundary  question, 
and  fought  a  hard  battle  one  summer  morning  in 
that  old  time,  not  altogether  bloodless,  but  by  no 
means  as  fatal  as  the  fight  between  the  rival  High 
land  clans,  described  by  Scott  in  "  The  Fair  Maid 
of  Perth."  I  used  to  wonder  at  their  folly,  when 
I  was  stumbling  over  the  rough  hassocks,  and  sink 
ing  knee-deep  in  the  black  mire,  raking  the  sharp 
sickle-edged  grass  which  we  used  to  feed  out  to 
the  young  cattle  in  midwinter  when  the  bitter  cold 
gave  them  appetite  for  even  such  fodder.  I  had 
an  almost  Irish  hatred  of  snakes,  and  these  mead 
ows  were  full  of  them,  —  striped,  green,  dingy 
water-snakes,  and  now  and  then  an  ugly  spotted 
adder  by  no  means  pleasant  to  touch  with  bare 
feet.  There  were  great  black  snakes,  too,  in  the 
ledges  of  the  neighboring  knolls ;  and  on  one 
occasion  in  early  spring  I  found  myself  in  the 
midst  of  a  score  at  least  of  them,  —  holding  their 
wicked  meeting  of  a  Sabbath  morning  on  the  mar 
gin  of  a  deep  spring  in  the  meadows.  One  glimpse 
at  their  fierce  shining  heads  in  the  sunshine,  as 
they  roused  themselves  at  my  approach,  was  suffi 
cient  to  send  me  at  full  speed  towards  the  nearest 
upland.  The  snakes,  equally  scared,  fled  in  the 
same  direction  ;  and,  looking  back,  I  saw  the  dark 
monsters  following  close  at  my  heels,  terrible  as 
the  Black  Horse  rebel  regiment  at  Bull  Run.  I 
had,  happily,  sense  enough  left  to  step  aside  and 
let  the  ugly  troop  glide  into  the  bushes. 

Nevertheless,  the  meadows  had  their  redeeming 
points.  In  spring  mornings  the  blackbirds  and 
bobolinks  made  them  musical  with  songs  ;  and  in 


322  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

the  evenings  great  bullfrogs  croaked  and  clamored ; 
and  on  summer  nights  we  loved  to  watch  the  white 
wreaths  of  fog  rising  and  drifting  in  the  moonlight 
like  troops  of  ghosts,  with  the  fireflies  throwing  up 
ever  and  anon  signals  of  their  coming.  But  the 
Brook  was  far  more  attractive,  for  it  had  sheltered 
bathing-places,  clear  and  white  sanded,  and  weedy 
stretches,  where  the  shy  pickerel  loved  to  linger, 
and  deep  pools,  where  the  stupid  sucker  stirred  the 
black  mud  with  his  fins.  I  had  followed  it  all  the 
way  from  its  birthplace  among  the  pleasant  New 
Hampshire  hills,  through  the  sunshine  of  broad, 
open  meadows,  and  under  the  shadow  of  thick 
woods.  It  was,  for  the  most  part,  a  sober,  quiet 
little  river ;  but  at  intervals  it  broke  into  a  low, 
rippling  laugh  over  rocks  and  trunks  of  fallen 
trees.  There  had,  so  tradition  said,  once  been  a 
witch-meeting  on  its  banks,  of  six  little  old  women 
in  short,  sky-blue  cloaks ;  and  if  a  drunken  team 
ster  could  be  credited,  a  ghost  was  once  seen  bob 
bing  for  eels  under  Country  Bridge.  It  ground 
our  corn  and  rye  for  us,  at  its  two  grist-mills ;  and 
we  drove  our  sheep  to  it  for  their  spring  washing, 
an  anniversary  which  was  looked  forward  to  with 
intense  delight,  for  it  was  always  rare  fun  for  the 
youngsters.  Macaulay  has  sung,  — 

"  That  year  young  lads  in  Umbro 
Shall  plunge  the  struggling  sheep  ;  ' ' 

and  his  picture  of  the  Roman  sheep-washing  re 
called,  when  we  read  it,  similar  scenes  in  the 
Country  Brook.  On  its  banks  we  could  always 
find  the  earliest  and  the  latest  wild  flowers,  from 
the  pale  blue,  three-lobed  hepatica,  and  small,  deli- 


THE  FISH  I  DIDWT  CATCH  323 

cate  wood-anemone,  to  the  yellow  blooni  of  the 
witch-hazel  burning  in  the  leafless  October  woods. 
Yet,  after  all,  I  think  the  chief  attraction  of  the 
Brook  to  my  brother  and  myself  was  the  fine  fish 
ing  it  afforded  us.  Our  bachelor  uncle  who  lived 
with  us  (there  has  always  been  one  of  that  unfor 
tunate  class  in  every  generation  of  our  family)  was 
a  quiet,  genial  man,  much  given  to  hunting  and 
fishing;  and  it  was  one  of  the  great  pleasures  of 
our  young  life  to  accompany  him  on  his  expedi 
tions  to  Great  Hill,  Brandy-brow  Woods,  the  Pond, 
and,  best  of  all,  to  the  Country  Brook.  We  were 
quite  willing  to  work  hard  in  the  cornfield  or  the 
haying-lot  to  finish  the  necessary  day's  labor  in 
season  for  an  afternoon  stroll  through  the  woods 
and  along  the  brookside.  I  remember  my  first 
fishing  excursion  as  if  it  were  but  yesterday.  I 
have  been  happy  many  times  in  my  life,  but  never 
more  intensely  so  than  when  I  received  that  first 
fishing-pole  from  my  uncle's  hand,  and  trudged  off 
with  him  through  the  woods  and  meadows.  It 
was  a  still  sweet  day  of  early  summer ;  the  long 
afternoon  shadows  of  the  trees  lay  cool  across  our 
path  ;  the  leaves  seemed  greener,  the  flowers 
brighter,  the  birds  merrier,  than  ever  before.  My 
uncle,  who  knew  by  long  experience  where  were 
the  best  haunts  of  pickerel,  considerately  placed 
me  at  the  most  favorable  point.  I  threw  out  my 
line  as  I  had  so  often  seen  others,  and  waited 
anxiously  for  a  bite,  moving  the  bait  in  rapid  jerks 
on  the  surface  of  the  water  in  imitation  of  the  leap 
of  a  frog.  Nothing  came  of  it.  "  Try  again," 
said  my  uncle.  Suddenly  the  bait  sank  out  of 


324  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

sight.  "  Now  for  it,"  thought  I ;  "  here  is  a  fish 
at  last."  I  made  a  strong  pull,  and  brought  up  a 
tangle  of  weeds.  Again  and  again  I  cast  out  my 
line  with  aching  arms,  and  drew  it  back  empty. 
I  looked  to  my  uncle  appealingly.  u  Try  once 
more,"  he  said.  "  We  fishermen  must  have  pa 
tience." 

Suddenly  something  tugged  at  my  line  and 
swept  off  with  it  into  deep  water.  Jerking  it 
up,  I  saw  a  fine  pickerel  wriggling  in  the  sun. 
"  Uncle  !  "  I  cried,  looking  back  in  uncontrollable 
excitement,  "  I  've  got  a  fish !  "  "  Not  yet,"  said 
my  uncle.  As  he  spoke  there  was  a  plash  in  the 
water ;  I  caught  the  arrowy  gleam  of  a  scared  fish 
shooting  into  the  middle  of  the  stream ;  my  hook 
hung  empty  from  the  line.  I  had  lost  my  prize. 

We  are  apt  to  speak  of  the  sorrows  of  childhood 
as  trifles  in  comparison  with  those  of  grown-up 
people  ;  but  we  may  depend  upon  it  the  young 
folks  don't  agree  with  us.  Our  griefs,  modified 
and  restrained  by  reason,  experience,  and  self- 
respect,  keep  the  proprieties,  and,  if  possible,  avoid 
a  scene  ;  but  the  sorrow  of  childhood,  unreasoning 
and  all-absorbing,  is  a  complete  abandonment  to 
the  passion.  The  doll's  nose  is  broken,  and  the 
world  breaks  up  with  it ;  the  marble  rolls  out  of 
sight,  and  the  solid  globe  rolls  off  with  the  marble. 

So,  overcome  by  my  great  and  bitter  disappoint 
ment,  I  sat  down  on  the  nearest  hassock,  and  for  a 
time  refused  to  be  comforted,  even  by  my  uncle's 
assurance  that  there  were  more  fish  in  the  brook. 
He  refitted  my  bait,  and,  putting  the  pole  again  in 
my  hands,  told  me  to  try  my  luck  once  more. 


THE  FISH  I  DIDN'T  CATCH  325 

"  But  remember,  boy,"  he  said,  with  his  shrewd 
smile,  "  never  brag  of  catching  a  fish  until  he  is 
on  dry  ground.  I  've  seen  older  folks  doing  that 
in  more  ways  than  one,  and  so  making  fools  of 
themselves.  It 's  no  use  to  boast  of  anything  until 
it 's  done,  nor  then  either,  for  it  speaks  for  itself." 

How  often  since  I  have  been  reminded  of  the 
fish  that  I  did  not  catch !  When  I  hear  people 
boasting  of  a  work  as  yet  undone,  and  trying  to 
anticipate  the  credit  which  belongs  only  to  actual 
achievement,  I  call  to  mind  that  scene  by  the 
brookside,  and  the  wise  caution  of  my  uncle  in  that 
particular  instance  takes  the  form  of  a  proverb  of 
universal  application  :  "  Never  brag  of  your  fish 
before  you  catch  him." 


YANKEE  GYPSIES. 

"Here  's  to  budgets,  packs,  and  wallets; 
Here  's  to  all  the  wandering  train." 

BURNS. 

I  CONFESS  it,  I  am  keenly  sensitive  to  "  skyey 
influences."  I  profess  no  indifference  to  the  move 
ments  of  that  capricious  old  gentleman  known  as 
the  clerk  of  the  weather.  I  cannot  conceal  my  in 
terest  in  the  behavior  of  that  patriarchal  bird  whose 
wooden  similitude  gyrates  on  the  church  spire. 
"Winter  proper  is  well  enough.  Let  the  thermome 
ter  go  to  zero  if  it  will ;  so  much  the  better,  if 
thereby  the  very  winds  are  frozen  and  unable  to 
flap  their  stiff  wings.  Sounds  of  bells  in  the  keen 
air,  clear,  musical,  heart-inspiring;  quick  tripping 
of  fair  moccasined  feet  on  glittering  ice  pavements ; 
bright  eyes  glancing  above  the  uplifted  muff  like  a 
sultana's  behind  the  folds  of  her  yashmak  ;  school 
boys  coasting  down  street  like  mad  Greenlanders ; 
the  cold  brilliance  of  oblique  sunbeams  flashing- 
back  from  wide  surfaces  of  glittering  snow  or  blaz 
ing  upon  ice  jewelry  of  tree  and  roof.  There  is 
nothing  in  all  this  to  complain  of.  A  storm  of 
summer  has  its  redeeming  sublimities,  —  its  slow, 
upheaving  mountains  of  cloud  glooming  in  the 
western  horizon  like  new-created  volcanoes,  veined 
with  fire,  shattered  by  exploding  thunders.  Even 
the  wild  gales  of  the  equinox  have  their  varieties, 


YANKEE   GYPSIES  327 

—  sounds  of  wind-shaken  woods  and  waters,  creak 
and  clatter  of  sign  and  casement,  hurricane  puffs 
and  down-rushing  rain-spouts.  But  this  dull,  dark 
autumn  day  of  thaw  and  rain,  when  the  very  clouds 
seem  too  spiritless  and  languid  to  storm  outright  or 
take  themselves  out  of  the  way  of  fair  weather ; 
wet  beneath  and  above,  reminding  one  of  that  ray- 
less  atmosphere  of  Dante's  Third  Circle,  where  the 
infernal  Priessnitz  administers  his  hydropathic  tor 
ment,  — 

"  A  heavy,  cursed,  and  relentless  drench,  — 
The  land  it  soaks  is  putrid  ;  " 

or  rather,  as  everything  animate  and  inanimate  is 
seething  in  warm  mist,  suggesting  the  idea  that  Na 
ture,  grown  old  and  rheumatic,  is  trying  the  efficacy 
of  a  Thompsonian  steam-box  on  a  grand  scale  ;  no 
sounds  save  the  heavy  plash  of  muddy  feet  on  the 
pavements  ;  the  monotonous  melancholy  drip  from 
trees  and  roofs  ;  the  distressful  gurgling  of  water- 
ducts,  swallowing  the  dirty  amalgam  of  the  gutters ; 
a  dim,  leaden-colored  horizon  of  only  a  few  yards 
in  diameter,  shutting  down  about  one,  beyond  which 
nothing  is  visible  save  in  faint  line  or  dark  projec 
tion  ;  the  ghost  of  a  church  spire  or  the  eidolon  of 
a  chimney-pot.  He  who  can  extract  pleasurable 
emotions  from  the  alembic  of  such  a  day  has  a  trick 
of  alchemy  with  which  I  am  wholly  unacquainted. 
Hark  !  a  rap  at  my  door.  Welcome  anybody  just 
now.  One  gains  nothing  by  attempting  to  shut  out 
the  sprites  of  the  weather.  They  come  in  at  the 
keyhole ;  they  peer  through  the  dripping  panes ; 
they  insinuate  themselves  through  the  crevices  of 
the  casement,  or  plump  down  chimney  astride  of 
the  rain-drops. 


328  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

I  rise  and  throw  open  the  door.  A  tall,  sham 
bling,  loose-jointed  figure  ;  a  pinched,  shrewd  face, 
sun-browned  and  wind-dried ;  small,  quick-winking 
black  eyes.  There  he  stands,  the  water  dripping 
from  his  pulpy  hat  and  ragged  elbows. 

I  speak  to  him  ;  but  he  returns  no  answer.  With 
a  dumb  show  of  misery,  quite  touching,  he  hands  me 
a  soiled  piece  of  parchment,  whereon  I  read  what 
purports  to  be  a  melancholy  account  of  shipwreck 
and  disaster,  to  the  particular  detriment,  loss,  and 
damnification  of  one  Pietro  Frugoni,  who  is,  in  con 
sequence,  sorely  in  want  of  the  alms  of  all  chari 
table  Christian  persons,  and  who  is,  in  short,  the 
bearer  of  this  veracious  document,  duly  certified 
and  indorsed  by  an  Italian  consul  in  one  of  our 
Atlantic  cities,  of  a  high-sounding,  but  to  Yankee 
organs  unpronounceable  name. 

Here  commences  a  struggle.  Every  man,  the 
Mohammedans  tell  us,  has  two  attendant  angels,  — 
the  good  one  on  his  right  shoulder,  the  bad  on  his 
left.  "  Give,"  says  Benevolence,  as  with  some  diffi 
culty  I  fish  up  a  small  coin  from  the  depths  of  my 
pocket.  "  Not  a  cent,"  says  selfish  Prudence ;  and 
I  drop  it  from  my  fingers.  "  Think,"  says  the  good 
angel,  "  of  the  poor  stranger  in  a  strange  land,  just 
escaped  from  the  terrors  of  the  sea-storm,  in  which 
his  little  property  has  perished,  thrown  half-naked 
and  helpless  on  our  shores,  ignorant  of  our  lan 
guage,  and  unable  to  find  employment  suited  to 
his  capacity."  "A  vile  impostor!  "  replies  the  left- 
hand  sentinel.  "  His  paper,  purchased  from  one 
of  those  ready-writers  in  New  York  who  manufac 
ture  beggar-credentials  at  the  low  price  of  one  dol- 


YANKEE   GYPSIES  329 

lar  per  copy,  with  earthquakes,  fires,  or  shipwrecks, 
to  suit  customers." 

Amidst  this  confusion  of  tongues  I  take  another 
survey  of  my  visitant.  Ha !  a  light  dawns  upon 
me.  That  shrewd  old  face,  with  its  sharp,  winking 
eyes,  is  no  stranger  to  me.  Pietro  Frugoni,  I  have 
seen  thee  before.  Si,  signor,  that  face  of  thine  has 
looked  at  me  over  a  dirty  white  neckcloth,  with  the 
corners  of  that  cunning  mouth  drawn  downwards, 
and  those  small  eyes  turned  up  in  sanctimonious 
gravity,  while  thou  wast  offering  to  a  crowd  of  half- 
grown  boys  an  extemporaneous  exhortation  in  the 
capacity  of  a  travelling  preacher.  Have  I  not  seen 
it  peering  out  from  under  a  blanket,  as  that  of  a 
poor  Penobscot  Indian,  who  had  lost  the  use  of  his 
hands  while  trapping  on  the  Madawaska?  Is  it 
not  the  face  of  the  forlorn  father  of  six  small  chil 
dren,  whom  the  "  marcury  doctors  "  had  "  pisened  " 
and  crippled  ?  Did  it  not  belong  to  that  down-East 
unfortunate  who  had  been  out  to  the  "  Genesee 
country "  and  got  the  "  fevern-nager,"  and  whose 
hand  shook  so  pitifully  when  held  out  to  receive 
my  poor  gift  ?  The  same,  under  all  disguises,  — 
Stephen  Leathers,  of  Barrington,  —  him,  and  none 
other !  Let  me  conjure  him  into  his  own  like 
ness  :  — 

"  Well,  Stephen,  what  news  from  old  Barring- 
ton  ?  " 

"  Oh,  well,  I  thought  I  knew  ye,"  he  answers, 
not  the  least  disconcerted.  "How  do  you  do? 
and  how 's  your  folks  ?  All  well,  I  hope.  I  took 
this  'ere  paper,  you  see,  to  help  a  poor  furriner, 
who  could  n't  make  himself  understood  any  more 


330  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

than  a  wild  goose.  I  thought  I  'd  just  start  him 
forward  a  little.  It  seemed  a  marcy  to  do  it." 

Well  and  shiftily  answered,  thou  ragged  Proteus. 
One  cannot  be  angry  with  such  a  fellow.  I  will  just 
inquire  into  the  present  state  of  his  Gospel  mission 
and  about  the  condition  of  his  tribe  on  the  Penob- 
scot ;  and  it  may  be  not  amiss  to  congratulate  him 
on  the  success  of  the  steam-doctors  in  sweating  the 

O 

"  pisen  "  of  the  regular  faculty  out  of  him.  But  he 
evidently  has  no  wish  to  enter  into  idle  conversa 
tion.  Intent  upon  his  benevolent  errand,  he  is 
already  clattering  down  stairs.  Involuntarily  I 
glance  out  of  the  window  just  in  season  to  catch 
a  single  glimpse  of  him  ere  he  is  swallowed  up 
in  the  mist. 

He  has  gone  ;  and,  knave  as  he  is,  I  can  hardly 
help  exclaiming,  "  Luck  go  with  him !  "  He  has 
broken  in  upon  the  sombre .  train  of  my  thoughts 
and  called  up  before  me  pleasant  and  grateful  recol 
lections.  The  old  farm-house  nestling  in  its  valley ; 
hills  stretching  off  to  the  south  and  green  meadows 
to  the  east ;  the  small  stream  which  came  noisily 
down  its  ravine,  washing  the  old  garden-wall  and 
softly  lapping  on  fallen  stones  and  mossy  roots  of 
beeches  and  hemlocks ;  the  tall  sentinel  poplars  at 
the  gateway ;  the  oak-forest,  sweeping  unbroken  to 
the  northern  horizon ;  the  grass-grown  carriage-path, 
with  its  rude  and  crazy  bridge,  —  the  dear  old  land 
scape  of  my  boyhood  lies  outstretched  before  me 
like  a  daguerreotype  from  that  picture  within  which 
I  have  borne  with  me  in  all  my  wanderings.  I  am 
a  boy  again,  once  more  conscious  of  the  feeling, 
half  terror,  half  exultation,  with  which  I  used  to 


YANKEE   GYPSIES  331 

announce  the  approach  of  this  very  vagabond  and 
his  "  kindred  after  the  flesh." 

The  advent  of  wandering  beggars,  or  "  old 
stragglers,"  as  we  were  wont  to  call  them,  was  an 
event  of  no  ordinary  interest  in  the  generally  mo 
notonous  quietude  of  our  farm-life.  Many  of  them 
were  well  known ;  they  had  their  periodical  revo 
lutions  and  transits ;  we  could  calculate  them  like 
eclipses  or  new  moons.  Some  were  sturdy  knaves, 
fat  and  saucy;  and,  whenever  they  ascertained 
that  the  "  men  folks "  were  absent,  would  order 
provisions  and  cider  like  men  who  expected  to 
pay  for  them,  seating  themselves  at  the  hearth  or 
table  with  the  air  of  Falstaff,  —  "  Shall  I  not  take 
mine  ease  in  mine  inn  ?  "  Others,  poor,  pale,  pa 
tient,  like  Sterne's  monk,  came  creeping  up  to  the 
door,  hat  in  hand,  standing  there  in  their  gray 
wretchedness  with  a  look  of  heartbreak  and  for- 
lornness  which  was  never  without  its  effect  on  our 
juvenile  sensibilities.  At  times,  however,  we  experi 
enced  a  slight  revulsion  of  feeling  when  even  these 
humblest  children  of  sorrow  somewhat  petulantly 
rejected  our  proffered  bread  and  cheese,  and  de 
manded  instead  a  glass  of  cider.  Whatever  the 
temperance  society  might  in  such  cases  have  done, 
it  was  not  in  our  hearts  to  refuse  the  poor  crea 
tures  a  draught  of  their  favorite  beverage ;  and 
was  n't  it  a  satisfaction  to  see  their  sad,  melancholy 
faces  light  up  as  we  handed  them  the  full  pitcher, 
and,  on  receiving  it  back  empty  from  their  brown, 
wrinkled  hands,  to  hear  them,  half  breathless  from 
their  long,  delicious  draught,  thanking  us  for  the 
favor,  as  "  dear,  good  children !  "  Not  unfre- 


332  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

quently  these  wandering  tests  of  our  benevolence 
made  their  appearance  in  interesting  groups  of 
man,  woman,  and  child,  picturesque  in  their  squal- 
idness,  and  manifesting  a  maudlin  affection  which 
would  have  done  honor  to  the  revellers  at  Poosie- 
Nansie's,  immortal  in  the  cantata  of  Burns.  I  re 
member  some  who  were  evidently  the  victims  of 
monomania,  —  haunted  and  hunted  by  some  dark 
thought,  —  possessed  by  a  fixed  idea.  One,  a 
black-eyed,  wild-haired  woman,  with  a  whole  trag 
edy  of  sin,  shame,  and  suffering  written  in  her 
countenance,  used  often  to  visit  us,  warm  herself 
by  our  winter  fire,  and  supply  herself  with  a  stock 
of  cakes  and  cold  meat ;  but  was  never  known  to 
answer  a  question  or  to  ask  one.  She  never 
smiled ;  the  cold,  stony  look  of  her  eye  never 
changed ;  a  silent,  impassive  face,  frozen  rigid  by 
some  great  wrong  or  sin.  We  used  to  look  with 
awe  upon  the  "  still  woman,"  and  think  of  the  de 
moniac  of  Scripture  who  had  a  "  dumb  spirit." 

One  —  I  think  I  see  him  now,  grim,  gaunt,  and 
ghastly,  working  his  slow  way  up  to  our  door  — 
used  to  gather  herbs  by  the  wayside  and  call  him 
self  doctor.  He  was  bearded  like  a  he  goat  and 
used  to  counterfeit  lameness,  yet,  when  he  supposed 
himself  alone,  would  travel  on  lustily  as  if  walking 
for  a  wager.  At  length,  as  if  in  punishment  of 
his  deceit,  he  met  with  an  accident  in  his  rambles 
and  became  lame  in  earnest,  hobbling  ever  after 
with  difficulty  on  his  gnarled  crutches.  Another 
used  to  go  stooping,  like  Bunyan's  pilgrim,  under 
a  pack  made  of  an  old  bed-sacking,  stuffed  out  into 
most  plethoric  dimensions,  tottering  on  a  pair  of 


YANKEE   GYPSIES  333 

small,  meagre  legs,  and  peering  out  with  his  wild, 
hairy  face  from  under  his  burden  like  a  big-bodied 
spider.  That  "man  with  the  pack"  always  in 
spired  me  with  awe  and  reverence.  Huge,  almost 
sublime,  in  its  tense  rotundity,  the  father  of  all 
packs,  never  laid  aside  and  never  opened,  what 
might  there  not  be  within  it  ?  With  what  flesh- 
creeping  curiosity  I  used  to  walk  round  about  it 
at  a  safe  distance,  half  expecting  to  see  its  striped 
covering  stirred  by  the  motions  of  a  mysterious 
life,  or  that  some  evil  monster  would  leap  out  of 
it,  like  robbers  from  Ali  Baba's  jars  or  armed  men 
from  the  Trojan  horse  ! 

There  was  another  class  of  peripatetic  philoso 
phers  —  half  pedler,  half  mendicant  —  who  were 
in  the  habit  of  visiting  us.  One  we  recollect,  a 
lame,  unshaven,  sinister-eyed,  unwholesome  fellow, 
with  his  basket  of  old  newspapers  and  pamphlets, 
and  his  tattered  blue  umbrella,  serving  rather  as 
a  walking  staff  than  as  a  protection  from  the  rain. 
He  told  us  on  one  occasion,  in  answer  to  our  inquir 
ing  into  the  cause  of  his  lameness,  that  when  a 
young  man  he  was  employed  on  the  farm  of  the 
chief  magistrate  of  a  neighboring  State  ;  where,  as 
his  ill-luck  would  have  it,  the  governor's  handsome 
daughter  fell  in  love  with  him.  He  was  caught 
one  day  in  the  young  lady's  room  by  her  father ; 
whereupon  the  irascible  old  gentleman  pitched  him 
unceremoniously  out  of  the  window,  laming  him  for 
life,  on  the  brick  pavement  below,  like  Vulcan  on 
the  rocks  of  Lemnos.  As  for  the  lady,  he  assured 
us  "  she  took  on  dreadfully  about  it."  "  Did  she 
die  ?  "  we  inquired  anxiously.  There  was  a  cun- 


334  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

ning  twinkle  in  the  old  rogue's  eye  as  he  re 
sponded,  "  Well,  110,  she  did  n't.  She  got  mar 
ried." 

Twice  a  year,  usually  in  the  spring  and  autumn, 
we  were  honored  with  a  call  from  Jonathan  Plum- 
mer,  maker  of  verses,  pedler  and  poet,  physician 
and  parson,  —  a  Yankee  troubadour,  —  first  and 
last  minstrel  of  the  valley  of  the  Merrimac,  en 
circled,  to  my  wondering  young  eyes,  with  the 
very  nimbus  of  immortality.  He  brought  with 
him  pins,  needles,  tape,  and  cotton-thread  for  my 
mother;  jack-knives,  razors,  and  soap  for  my 
father  ;  and  verses  of  his  own  composing,  coarsely 
printed  and  illustrated  with  rude  wood-cuts,  for 
the  delectation  of  the  younger  branches  of  the  fam 
ily.  No  lovesick  youth  could  drown  himself,  no 
deserted  maiden  bewail  the  moon,  no  rogue  mount 
the  gallows,  without  fitting  memorial  in  Plummer's 
verses.  Earthquakes,  fires,  fevers,  and  shipwrecks 
he  regarded  as  personal  favors  from  Providence, 
furnishing  the  raw  material  of  song  and  ballad. 
Welcome  to  us  in  our  country  seclusion  as  Autoly- 
cus  to  the  clown  in  Winter's  Tale,  we  listened  with 
infinite  satisfaction  to  his  readings  of  his  own 
verses,  or  to  his  ready  improvisation  upon  some 
domestic  incident  or  topic  suggested  by  his  audi 
tors.  When  once  fairly  over  the  difficulties  at  the 
outset  of  a  new  subject,  his  rhymes  flowed  freely, 
"  as  if  he  had  eaten  ballads  and  all  men's  ears 
grew  to  his  tunes."  His  productions  answered,  as 
nearly  as  I  can  remember,  to  Shakespeare's  de 
scription  of  a  proper  ballad,  —  "  doleful  matter 
merrily  set  down,  or  a  very  pleasant  theme  sung 


YANKEE   GYPSIES  335 

lamentably."  He  was  scrupulously  conscientious, 
devout,  inclined  to  theological  disquisitions,  and 
withal  mighty  in  Scripture.  He  was  thoroughly 
independent ;  flattered  nobody,  cared  for  nobody, 
trusted  nobody.  When  invited  to  sit  down  at  our 
dinner-table,  he  invariably  took  the  precaution  to 
place  his  basket  of  valuables  between  his  legs  for 
safe  keeping.  "  Never  mind  thy  basket,  Jona 
than,"  said  my  father ;  "  we  sha'n't  steal  thy 
verses."  —  "  I  'in  not  sure  of  that,"  returned  the 
suspicious  guest.  "  It  is  written,  '  Trust  ye  not  in 
any  brother.' " 

Thou  too,  O  Parson  B.,  —  with  thy  pale  stu 
dent's  brow  and  rubicund  nose,  with  thy  rusty  and 
tattered  black  coat  overswept  by  white  flowing 
locks,  with  thy  professional  white  neckcloth  scru 
pulously  preserved  when  even  a  shirt  to  thy  back 
was  problematical,  —  art  by  no  means  to  be  over 
looked  in  the  muster-roll  of  vagrant  gentlemen 
possessing  the  entree  of  our  farm-house.  Well  do 
we  remember  with  what  grave  and  dignified  cour 
tesy  he  used  to  step  over  its  threshold,  saluting  its 
inmates  with  the  same  air  of  gracious  condescension 
and  patronage  with  which  in  better  days  he  had 
delighted  the  hearts  of  his  parishioners.  Poor  old 
man !  He  had  once  been  the  admired  and  almost 
worshipped  minister  of  the  largest  church  in  the 
town  where  he  afterwards  found  support  in  the 
winter  season  as  a  pauper.  He  had  early  fallen 
into  intemperate  habits ;  and  at  the  age  of  three 
score  and  ten,  when  I  remember  him,  he  was  only 
sober  when  he  lacked  the  means  of  being  other 
wise.  Drunk  or  sober,  however,  he  never  alto- 


336  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

gether  forgot  the  proprieties  of  his  profession ;  he 
was  always  grave,  decorous,  and  gentlemanly  ;  he 
held  fast  the  form  of  sound  words,  and  the  weak 
ness  of  the  flesh  abated  nothing  of  the  rigor  of  his 
stringent  theology.  He  had  been  a  favorite  pupil 
of  the  learned  and  astute  Emmons,  and  was  to  the 
last  a  sturdy  defender  of  the  peculiar  dogmas  of 
his  school.  The  last  time  we  saw  him  he  was  hold 
ing  a  meeting  in  our  district  school-house,  with  a 
vagabond  pedler  for  deacon  and  travelling  com 
panion.  The  tie  which  united  the  ill-assorted 
couple  was  doubtless  the  same  which  endeared  Tain 
O'Shanter  to  the  souter  :  — 

"  They  had  been  fou  for  weeks  thegither." 

He  took  for  his  text  the  first  seven  verses  of  the 
concluding  chapter  of  Ecclesiastes,  furnishing  in 
himself  its  fitting  illustration.  The  evil  days  had 
come  ;  the  keepers  of  the  house  trembled  ;  the  win 
dows  of  life  were  darkened.  A  few  months  later 
the  silver  cord  was  loosened,  the  golden  bowl  was 
broken,  and  between  the  poor  old  man  and  the 
temptations  which  beset  him  fell  the  thick  curtains 
of  the  grave. 

One  day  we  had  a  call  from  a  "  pawky  auld  carle  " 
of  a  wandering  Scotchman.  To  him  I  owe  my  first 
introduction  to  the  songs  of  Burns.  After  eating 
his  bread  and  cheese  and  drinking  his  mug  of  cider 
he  gave  us  Bonny  Doon,  Highland  Mary,  and 
Auld  Lang  Syne.  He  had  a  rich,  full  voice,  and 
entered  heartily  into  the  spirit  of  his  lyrics.  I 
have  since  listened  to  the  same  melodies  from  the 
lips  of  Dempster,  than  whom  the  Scottish  bard 
has  had  no  sweeter  or  truer  interpreter ;  but  the 


YANKEE   GYPSIES  337 

skilful  performance  of  the  artist  lacked  the  novel 
charm  of  the  gaberluuzie's  singing  in  the  old  farm 
house  kitchen.  Another  wanderer  made  us  ac 
quainted  with  the  humorous  old  ballad  of  "  Our 
gude  man  cam  harne  at  e'en."  He  applied  for  sup 
per  and  lodging,  and  the  next  morning  was  set  at 
work  splitting  stones  in  the  pasture.  While  thus 
engaged  the  village  doctor  came  riding  along  the 
highway  on  his  fine,  spirited  horse,  and  stopped  to 
talk  with  my  father.  The  fellow  eyed  the  animal 
attentively,  as  if  familiar  with  all  his  good  points, 
and  hummed  over  a  stanza  of  the  old  poem :  — 

"  Our  gride  man  cam  hame  at  e'en, 

And  hame  cam  lie  ; 
And  there  he  saw  a  saddle  horse 

Where  nae  horse  should  be. 
*  How  cam  this  horse  here  ? 

How  can  it  be  ? 
How  cam  this  horse  here 

Without  the  leave  of  me  ?  ' 
'  A  horse  ?  '  quo  she. 
'  Ay,  a  horse,'  quo  he. 
'  Ye  auld  fool,  ye  blind  fool,  — 

And  blinder  might  ye  be,  — 
'T  is  naething  but  a  milking  cow 

My  mamma  sent  to  me.' 
'  A  milch  cow  ?  '  quo  he. 
'  Ay,  a  milch  cow,'  quo  she. 
'  Weel,  far  hae  I  ridden, 

And  muckle  hae  I  seen ; 
But  milking  cows  wi'  saddles  on 

Saw  I  never  nane.'  " 

That  very  night  the  rascal  decamped,  taking 
with  him  the  doctor's  horse,  and  was  never  after 
heard  of. 

Often,  in  the  gray  of  the  morning,  we  used  to 
see  one  or  more  "  gaberlunzie  men,"  pack  on 


338  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

shoulder  and  staff  in  hand,  emerging  from  the  barn 
or  other  outbuildings  where  they  had  passed  the 
night.  I  was  once  sent  to  the  barn  to  fodder  the 
cattle  late  in  the  evening,  and,  climbing  into  the 
mow  to  pitch  down  hay  for  that  purpose,  I  was 
startled  by  the  sudden  apparition  of  a  man  rising 
up  before  me,  just  discernible  in  the  dim  moonlight 
streaming  through  the  seams  of  the  boards.  I 
made  a  rapid  retreat  down  the  ladder ;  and  was 
only  reassured  by  hearing  the  object  of  my  terror 
calling  after  me,  and  recognizing  his  voice  as  that 
of  a  harmless  old  pilgrim  whom  I  had  known 
before.  Our  farm-house  was  situated  in  a  lonely 
valley,  half  surrounded  with  woods,  with  no  neigh 
bors  in  sight.  One  dark,  cloudy  night,  when  our 
parents  chanced  to  be  absent,  we  were  sitting  with 
our  aged  grandmother  in  the  fading  light  of  the 
kitchen-fire,  working  ourselves  into  a  very  satis 
factory  state  of  excitement  and  terror  by  recount 
ing  to  each  other  all  the  dismal  stories  we  could  re 
member  of  ghosts,  witches,  haunted  houses  and 
robbers,  when  we  were  suddenly  startled  by  a  loud 
rap  at  the  door.  A  stripling  of  fourteen,  I  was 
very  naturally  regarded  as  the  head  of  the  house 
hold  ;  so,  with  many  misgivings,  I  advanced  to  the 
door,  which  I  slowly  opened,  holding  the  candle 
tremulously  above  my  head  and  peering  out  into 
the  darkness.  The  feeble  glimmer  played  upon 
the  apparition  of  a  gigantic  horseman,  mounted  on 
a  steed  of  a  size  worthy  of  such  a  rider  —  colossal, 
motionless,  like  images  cut  out  of  the  solid  night. 
The  strange  visitant  gruffly  saluted  me  ;  and,  after 
making  several  ineffectual  efforts  to  urge  his  horse 


YANKEE   GYPSIES  339 

in  at  the  door,  dismounted  and  followed  me  into 
the  room,  evidently  enjoying  the  terror  which  his 
huge  presence  excited.  Announcing  himself  as  the 
great  Indian  doctor,  he  drew  himself  up  before  the 
fire,  stretched  his  arms,  clenched  his  fists,  struck 
his  broad  chest,  and  invited  our  attention  to  what 
he  called  his  "  mortal  frame."  He  demanded  in 
succession  all  kinds  of  intoxicating  liquors  ;  and, 
on  being  assured  that  we  had  none  to  give  him,  he 
grew  angry,  threatened  to  swallow  my  younger 
brother  alive,  and,  seizing  me  by  the  hair  of  my 
head  as  the  angel  did  the  prophet  at  Babylon,  led 
me  about  from  room  to  room.  After  an  ineffect 
ual  search,  in  the  course  of  which  he  mistook  a  jug 
of  oil  for  one  of  brandy,  and,  contrary  to  my  ex 
planations  and  remonstrances,  insisted  upon  swal 
lowing  a  portion  of  its  contents,  he  released  me, 
fell  to  crying  and  sobbing,  and  confessed  that  he 
was  so  drunk  already  that  his  horse  was  ashamed 
of  him.  After  bemoaning  and  pitying  himself  to 
his  satisfaction  he  wiped  his  eyes,  and  sat  down  by 
the  side  of  my  grandmother,  giving  her  to  under 
stand  that  he  was  very  much  pleased  with  her  ap 
pearance  ;  adding,  that  if  agreeable  to  her,  he 
should  like  the  privilege  of  paying  his  addresses  to 
her.  While  vainly  endeavoring  to  make  the  ex 
cellent  old  lady  comprehend  his  very  flattering 
proposition,  he  was  interrupted  by  the  return  of  my 
father,  who,  at  once  understanding  the  matter, 
turned  him  out  of  doors  without  ceremony. 

On  one  occasion,  a  few  years  ago,  on  my  return 
from  the  field  at  evening,  I  was  told  that  a  for 
eigner  had  asked  for  lodgings  during  the  night, 


340  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

but  that,  influenced  by  his  dark,  repulsive  appear 
ance,  my  mother  had  very  reluctantly  refused  his 
request.  I  found  her  by  no  means  satisfied  with 
her  decision.  "  What  if  a  son  of  mine  was  in  a 
strange  land  ?  "  she  inquired,  self-reproachfully. 
Greatly  to  her  relief,  I  volunteered  to  go  in  pur 
suit  of  the  wanderer,  and,  taking  a  cross-path  over 
the  fields,  soon  overtook  him.  He  had  just  been 
rejected  at  the  house  of  our  nearest  neighbor, 
and  was  standing  in  a  state  of  dubious  perplexity 
in  the  street.  His  looks  quite  justified  my  moth 
er's  suspicions.  He  was  an  olive-complexioned, 
black-bearded  Italian,  with  an  eye  like  a  live  coal, 
such  a  face  as  perchance  looks  out  on  the  traveller 
in  the  passes  of  the  Abruzzi,  —  one  of  those  bandit 
visages  which  Salvator  has  painted.  With  some 
difficulty  I  gave  him  to  understand  my  errand, 
when  he  overwhelmed  me  with  thanks,  and  joy 
fully  followed  me  back.  He  took  his  seat  with  us 
at  the  supper-table ;  and,  when  we  were  all  gath 
ered  around  the  hearth  that  cold  autumnal  evening, 
he  told  us,  partly  by  words  and  partly  by  gestures, 
the  story  of  his  life  and  misfortunes,  amused  us 
with  descriptions  of  the  grape-gatherings  and  festi 
vals  of  his  sunny  clime,  edified  my  mother  with  a 
recipe  for  making  bread  of  chestnuts ;  and  in  the 
morning,  when,  after  breakfast,  his  dark,  sullen 
face  lighted  up  and  his  fierce  eye  moistened  with 
grateful  emotion  as  in  his  own  silvery  Tuscan  ac 
cent  he  poured  out  his  thanks,  we  marvelled  at  the 
fears  which  had  so  nearly  closed  our  door  against 
him  ;  and,  as  he  departed,  we  all  felt  that  he  had 
left  with  us  the  blessing  of  the  poor. 


YANKEE   GYPSIES  341 

It  was  not  often  that,  as  in  the  above  instance, 
my  mother's  prudence  got  the  better  of  her  charity. 
The  regular  "  old  stragglers  "  regarded  her  as  an 
unfailing  friend  ;  and  the  sight  of  her  plain  cap 
was  to  them  an  assurance  of  forthcoming  creature- 
comforts.  There  was  indeed  a  tribe  of  lazy  stroll 
ers,  having  their  place  of  rendezvous  in  the  town 
of  Barrington,  New  Hampshire,  whose  low  vices 
had  placed  them  beyond  even  the  pale  of  her  be 
nevolence.  They  were  not  unconscious  of  their  evil 
reputation ;  and  experience  had  taught  them  the 
necessity  of  concealing,  under  well-contrived  dis 
guises,  their  true  character.  They  came  to  us  in 
all  shapes  and  with  all  appearances  save  the  true 
one,  with  most  miserable  stories  of  mishap  and 
sickness  and  all  "the  ills  which. flesh  is  heir  to." 
It  was  particularly  vexatious  to  discover,  when  too 
late,  that  our  sympathies  and  charities  had  been 
expended  upon  such  graceless  vagabonds  as  the 
"  Barrington  beggars."  An  old  withered  hag, 
known  by  the  appellation  of  Hopping  Pat,  —  the 
wise  woman  of  her  tribe,  —  was  in  the  habit  of 
visiting  us,  with  her  hopeful  grandson,  who  had 
"  a  gift  for  preaching  "  as  well  as  for  many  other 
things  not  exactly  compatible  with  holy  orders. 
He  sometimes  brought  with  him  a  tame  crow,  a 
shrewd,  knavish-looking  bird,  who,  when  in  the 
humor  for  it,  could  talk  like  Barnaby  Rudge's 
raven.  He  used  to  say  he  could  "  do  nothin'  at 
exhortin'  without  a  white  handkercher  on  his  neck 
and  money  in  his  pocket,"  —  a  fact  going  far  to 
confirm  the  opinions  of  the  Bishop  of  Exeter  and 
the  Puseyites  generally,  that  there  can  be  no  priest 
without  tithes  and  surplice. 


342  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

These  people  have  for  several  generations  lived 
distinct  from  the  great  mass  of  the  community, 
like  the  gypsies  of  Europe,  whom  in  many  respects 
they  closely  resemble.  They  have  the  same  set 
tled  aversion  to  labor  and  the  same  disposition  to 
avail  themselves  of  the  fruits  of  the  industry  of 
others.  They  love  a  wild,  out-of-door  life,  sing 
songs,  tell  fortunes,  and  have  an  instinctive  hatred 
of  "  missionaries  and  cold  water."  It  has  been 
said  —  I  know  not  upon  what  grounds  —  that  their 
ancestors  were  indeed  a  veritable  importation  of 
English  gypsyhood ;  but  if  so,  they  have  undoubt 
edly  lost  a  good  deal  of  the  picturesque  charm  of 
its  unhoused  and  free  condition.  I  very  much  fear 
that  my  friend  Mary  Russell  Mitford,  — sweetest 
of  England's  rural  painters,  —  who  has  a  poet's 
eye  for  the  fine  points  in  gypsy  character,  would 
scarcely  allow  their  claims  to  fraternity  with  her 
own  vagrant  friends,  whose  camp-fires  welcomed 
her  to  her  new  home  at  Swallowfield. 

"The  proper  study  of  mankind  is  man,"  and, 
according  to  my  view,  no  phase  of  our  common 
humanity  is  altogether  unworthy  of  investigation. 
Acting  upon  this  belief  two  or  three  summers  ago, 
when  making,  in  company  with  my  sister,  a  little 
excursion  into  the  hill-country  of  New  Hampshire, 
I  turned  my  horse's  head  towards  Barrington  for 
the  purpose  of  seeing  these  semi-civilized  strollers 
in  their  own  home,  and  returning,  once  for  all, 
their  numerous  visits.  Taking  leave  of  our  hospi 
table  cousins  in  old  Lee  with  about  as  much  solem 
nity  as  we  may  suppose  Major  Laing  parted  with 
his  friends  when  he  set  out  in  search  of  desert- 


YANKEE   GYPSIES  343 

girdled  Timbuctoo,  we  drove  several  miles  over  a 
rough  road,  passed  the  Devil's  Den  unmolested, 
crossed  a  fretful  little  streamlet  noisily  working 
its  way  into  a  valley,  where  it  turned  a  lonely, 
half -ruinous  mill,  and  climbing  a  steep  hill  beyond, 
saw  before  us  a  wide  sandy  level,  skirted  on  the 
west  and  north  by  low,  scraggy  hills,  and  dotted 
here  and  there  with  dwarf  pitch-pines.  In  the 
centre  of  this  desolate  region  were  some  twenty  or 
thirty  small  dwellings,  grouped  together  as  irregu 
larly  as  a  Hottentot  kraal.  Unfenced,  unguarded, 
open  to  all  comers  and  goers,  stood  that  city  of  the 
beggars,  —  no  wall  or  paling  between  the  ragged 
cabins  to  remind  one  of  the  jealous  distinctions  of 
property.  The  great  idea  of  its  founders  seemed 
visible  in  its  unappropriated  freedom.  Was  not 
the  whole  round  world  their  own  ?  and  should  they 
haggle  about  boundaries  and  title-deeds?  For 
them,  on  distant  plains,  ripened  golden  harvests  ; 
for  them,  in  far-off  workshops,  busy  hands  were 
toiling ;  for  them,  if  they  had  but  the  grace  to 
note  it,  the  broad  earth  put  on  her  garniture  of 
beauty,  and  over  them  hung  the  silent  mystery  of 
heaven  and  its  stars.  That  comfortable  philosophy 
which  modern  transcendentalism  has  but  dimly 
shadowed  forth  —  that  poetic  agrarianism,  which 
gives  all  to  each  and  each  to  all  —  is  the  real  life 
of  this  city  of  unwork.  To  each  of  its  dingy 
dwellers  might  be  not  unaptly  applied  the  language 
of  one  who,  I  trust,  will  pardon  me  for  quoting 
her  beautiful  poem  in  this  connection  :  — 

"  Other  hands  may  grasp  the  field  or  forest, 
Proud  proprietors  in  pomp  may  shine  ; 
Thou  art  wealthier  —  all  the  world  is  thine." 


344  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

But  look !  the  clouds  are  breaking.  "  Fair  weather 
cometh  out  of  the  north."  The  wind  has  blown 
away  the  mists  ;  on  the  gilded  spire  of  John  Street 
glimmers  a  beam  of  sunshine  ;  and  there  is  the  sky 
again,  hard,  blue,  and  cold  in  its  eternal  purity,  not 
a  whit  the  worse  for  the  storm.  In  the  beautiful 
present  the  past  is  no  longer  needed.  Reverently 
and  gratefully  let  its  volume  be  laid  aside ;  and 
when  again  the  shadows  of  the  outward  world  fall 
upon  the  spirit,  may  I  not  lack  a  good  angel  to  re 
mind  me  of  its  solace,  even  if  he  comes  in  the  shape 
of  a  Barrington  beggar. 


THE  TRAINING. 

"  Send  for  the  milingtary." 

NOAH  CLAYPOLE  in  Oliver  Twist. 

WHAT  JS  now  in  the  wind  ?  Sounds  of  distant 
music  float  in  at  my  window  on  this  still  October 
air.  Hurrying  drum-beat,  shrill  fife-tones,  wailing 
bugle-notes,  and,  by  way  of  accompaniment,  hur 
rahs  from  the  urchins  on  the  crowded  sidewalks. 
Here  come  the  citizen-soldiers,  each  martial  foot 
beating  up  the  mud  of  yesterday's  storm  with  the 
slow,  regular,  up-and-down  movement  of  an  old- 
fashioned  churn-dasher.  Keeping  time  with  the 
feet  below,  some  threescore  of  plumed  heads  bob 
solemnly  beneath  me.  Slant  sunshine  glitters  on 
polished  gun-barrels  and  tinselled  uniform.  Gravely 
and  soberly  they  pass  on,  as  if  duly  impressed  with 
a  sense  of  the  deep  responsibility  of  their  position 
as  self -constituted  defenders  of  the  world's  last 
hope,  —  the  United  States  of  America,  and  possibly 
Texas.  They  look  out  with  honest,  citizen  faces 
under  their  leathern  visors  (their  ferocity  being 
mostly  the  work  of  the  tailor  and  tinker),  and,  I 
doubt  not,  are  at  this  moment  as  innocent  of  blood- 
thirstiness  as  yonder  worthy  tiller  of  the  Tewksbury 
Hills,  who  sits  quietly  in  his  wagon  dispensing 
apples  and  turnips  without  so  much  as  giving  a 
glance  at  the  procession.  Probably  there  is  not 
one  of  them  who  would  hesitate  to  divide  his  last 


346  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

tobacco-quid  with  his  worst  enemy.  Social,  kind- 
hearted,  psalm-singing,  sermon-hearing,  Sabbath- 
keeping  Christians  ;  and  yet,  if  we  look  at  the  fact 
of  the  matter,  these  very  men  have  been  out  the 
whole  afternoon  of  this  beautiful  day,  under  God's 
holy  sunshine,  as  busily  at  work  as  Satan  himself 
could  wish  in  learning  how  to  butcher  their  fellow- 
creatures  and  acquire  the  true  scientific  method  of 
impaling  a  forlorn  Mexican  on  a  bayonet,  or  of 
sinking  a  leaden  missile  in  the  brain  of  some  un 
fortunate  Briton,  urged  within  its  range  by  the 
double  incentive  of  sixpence  per  day  in  his  pocket 
and  the  cat-o'-nine-tails  011  his  back ! 

Without  intending  any  disparagement  of  my 
peaceable  ancestry  for  many  generations,  I  have 
still  strong  suspicions  that  somewhat  of  the  old 
Norman  blood,  something  of  the  grim  Berserker 
spirit,  has  been  bequeathed  to  me.  How  else  can 
I  account  for  the  intense  childish  eagerness  with 
which  I  listened  to  the  stories  of  old  campaigners 
who  sometimes  fought  their  battles  over  again  in 
my  hearing  ?  Why  did  I,  in  my  young  fancy,  go 
up  with  Jonathan,  the  son  of  Saul,  to  smite  the 
garrisoned  Philistines  of  Michmash,  or  with  the 
fierce  son  of  Nun  against  the  cities  of  Canaan  ? 
Why  was  Mr.  Greatheart,  in  Pilgrim's  Progress, 
my  favorite  character  ?  What  gave  such  fascina 
tion  to  the  narrative  of  the  grand  Homeric  en 
counter  between  Christian  and  Apollyon  in  the 
valley  ?  Why  did  I  follow  Ossian  over  Morven's 
battle-fields,  exulting  in  the  vulture-screams  of  the 
blind  scald  over  his  fallen  enemies?  Still  later, 
why  did  the  newspapers  furnish  me  with  subjects 


THE   TRAINING  347 

for  hero-worship  in  the  half-demented  Sir  Gregor 
McGregor,  and  Ypsilanti  at  the  head  of  his  knav 
ish  Greeks  ?  I  can  account  for  it  only  on  the 
supposition  that  the  mischief  was  inherited, — 
an  heirloom  from  the  old  sea-kings  of  the  ninth 
century. 

Education  and  reflection  have,  indeed,  since 
wrought  a  change  in  my  feelings.  The  trumpet  of 
the  Cid,  or  Ziska's  drum  even,  could  not  now 
waken  that  old  martial  spirit.  The  bull-dog  fero 
city  of  a  half -intoxicated  Anglo-Saxon,  pushing  his 
blind  way  against  the  converging  cannon-fire  from 
the  shattered  walls  of  Ciudad  Rodrigo,  commends 
itself  neither  to  my  reason  nor  my  fancy.  I  now 
regard  the  accounts  of  the  bloody  passage  of  the 
Bridge  of  Lodi,  and  of  French  cuirassiers  madly 
transfixing  themselves  upon  the  bayonets  of  Wel 
lington's  squares,  with  very  much  the  same  feeling 
of  horror  and  loathing  which  is  excited  by  a  detail 
of  the  exploits  of  an  Indian  Thug,  or  those  of  a 
mad  Malay  running  a  muck,  creese  in  hand, 
through  the  streets  of  Pulo  Penang.  Your  Water 
loo,  and  battles  of  the  Nile  and  Baltic,  —  what  are 
they,  in  sober  fact,  but  gladiatorial  murder-games 
on  a  great  scale,  —  human  imitations  of  bull-fights, 
at  which  Satan  sits  as  grand  alguazil  and  master 
of  ceremonies  ?  It  is  only  when  a  great  thought 
incarnates  itself  in  action,  desperately  striving  to 
find  utterance  even  in  sabre-clash  and  gun-fire,  or 
when  Truth  and  Freedom,  in  their  mistaken  zeal 
and  distrustful  of  their  own  powers,  put  on  battle- 
harness,  that  I  can  feel  any  sympathy  with  merely 
physical  daring.  The  brawny  butcher-work  of 


348  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

men  whose  wits,  like  those  of  Ajax,  lie  in  their 
sinews,  and  who  are  "  yoked  like  draught-oxen  and 
made  to  plough  up  the  wars,"  is  no  realization  of 
my  ideal  of  true  courage. 

Yet  I  am  not  conscious  of  having  lost  in  any  de 
gree  my  early  admiration  of  heroic  achievement. 
The  feeling  remains;  but  it  has  found  new  and 
better  objects.  I  have  learned  to  appreciate  what 
Milton  calls  the  martyr's  "  unresistible  might  of 
meekness,"  —  the  calm,  uncomplaining  endurance 
of  those  who  can  bear  up  against  persecution  un- 
cheered  by  sympathy  or  applause,  and,  with  a  full 
and  keen  appreciation  of  the  value  of  all  which 
they  are  called  to  sacrifice,  confront  danger  and 
death  in  unselfish  devotion  to  duty.  Fox,  preach 
ing  through  his  prison-gates  or  rebuking  Oliver 
Cromwell  in  the  midst  of  his  soldier-court ;  Henry 
Vane  beneath  the  axe  of  the  headsman  ;  Mary 
Dyer  on  the  scaffold  at  Boston;  Luther  closing 
his  speech  at  Worms  with  the  sublime  emphasis  of 
his  "  Here  stand  I ;  I  cannot  otherwise  ;  God  help 
me ;  "  William  Penn  defending  the  rights  of  Eng 
lishmen  from  the  baledock  of  the  Fleet  prison ; 
Clarkson  climbing  the  decks  of  Liverpool  slave- 
ships  ;  Howard  penetrating  to  infected  dungeons  ; 
meek  Sisters  of  Charity  breathing  contagion  in 
thronged  hospitals,  —  all  these,  and  such  as  these, 
now  help  me  to  form  the  loftier  ideal  of  Christian 
heroism. 

Blind  Milton  approaches  nearly  to  my  concep 
tion  of  a  true  hero.  What  a  picture  have  we  of 
that  sublime  old  man,  as  sick,  poor,  blind,  and 
abandoned  of  friends,  he  still  held  fast  his  heroic 


THE   TRAINING  349 

integrity,  rebuking  with  his  unbending  republican 
ism  the  treachery,  cowardice,  and  servility  of  his 
old  associates !  He  had  outlived  the  hopes  and 
beatific  visions  of  his  youth  ;  he  had  seen  the  loud 
mouthed  advocates  of  liberty  throwing  down  a  na 
tion's  freedom  at  the  feet  of  the  shameless,  de 
bauched,  and  perjured  Charles  II. ,  crouching  to 
the  harlot-thronged  court  of  the  tyrant,  and  for 
swearing  at  once  their  religion  and  their  republi 
canism.  The  executioner's  axe  had  been  busy 
among  his  friends.  Yane  and  Hampden  slept  in 
their  bloody  graves.  Cromwell's  ashes  had  been 
dragged  from  their  resting-place  ;  for  even  in  death 
the  effeminate  monarch  hated  and  feared  the  con- 
querer  of  Naseby  and  Marston  Moor.  He  was 
left  alone,  in  age,  and  penury,  and  blindness, 
oppressed  with  the  knowledge  that  all  which  his 
free  soul  abhorred  had  returned  upon  his  beloved 
country.  Yet  the  spirit  of  the  stern  old  republi 
can  remained  to  the  last  unbroken,  realizing  the 
truth  of  the  language  of  his  own  Samson  Ago- 
nistes :  — 

"  But  patience  is  more  oft  the  exercise 
Of  saints,  the  trial  of  their  fortitude, 
Making  them  each  his  own  deliverer 
And  victor  over  all 
That  tyranny  or  fortune  can  inflict." 

The  curse  of  religious  and  political  apostasy  lay 
heavy  on  the  land.  Harlotry  and  atheism  sat  in 
the  high  places  ;  and  the  "  caresses  of  wantons  and 
the  jests  of  buffoons  regulated  the  measures  of  a 
government  which  had  just  ability  enough  to  de 
ceive,  just  religion  enough  to  persecute."  But, 
while  Milton  mourned  over  this  disastrous  change, 


350  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

no  self-reproach  mingled  with  his  sorrow.  To  the 
last  he  had  striven  against  the  oppressor ;  and  when 
confined  to  his  narrow  alley,  a  prisoner  in  his  own 
mean  dwelling,  like  another  Prometheus  on  his 
rock,  he  still  turned  upon  him  an  eye  of  unsub 
dued  defiance.  Who,  that  has  read  his  powerful 
appeal  to  his  countrymen  when  they  were  on  the 
eve  of  welcoming  back  the  tyranny  and  misrule 
which,  at  the  expense  of  so  much  blood  and  trea 
sure  had  been  thrown  off,  can  ever  forget  it  ?  How 
nobly  does  Liberty  speak  through  him !  "  If," 
said  he,  "  ye  welcome  back  a  monarchy,  it  will  be 
the  triumph  of  all  tyrants  hereafter  over  any  peo 
ple  who  shall  resist  oppression  ;  and  their  song 
shall  then  be  to  others,  '  How  sped  the  rebellious 
English  ? '  but  to  our  posterity,  '  How  sped  the 
rebels,  your  fathers  ? ' '  How  solemn  and  awful 
is  his  closing  paragraph  !  "  What  I  have  spoken 
is  the  language  of  that  which  is  not  called  amiss 
4  the  good  old  cause.'  If  it  seem  strange  to  any, 
it  will  not,  I  hope,  seem  more  strange  than  con 
vincing  to  backsliders.  This  much  I  should  have 
said  though  I  were  sure  I  should  have  spoken  only 
to  trees  and  stones,  and  had  none  to  cry  to  but 
with  the  prophet,  '  O  earth,  earth,  earth ! '  to  tell 
the  very  soil  itself  what  its  perverse  inhabitants 
are  deaf  to ;  nay,  though  what  I  have  spoken 
should  prove  (which  Thou  suffer  not,  who  didst 
make  mankind  free ;  nor  Thou  next,  who  didst 
redeem  us  from  being  servants  of  sin)  to  be  the 
last  words  of  our  expiring  liberties." 


THE  CITY  OF  A  DAY. 

The  writer,  when  residing  in  Lowell,  in  1844  contributed  this 
and  the  companion  pieces  to  The  Stranger  in  Lowell. 

THIS,  then,  is  Lowell,  —  a  city  springing  up, 
like  the  enchanted  palaces  of  the  Arabian  tales, 
as  it  were  in  a  single  night,  stretching  far  and 
wide  its  chaos  of  brick  masonry  and  painted  shin 
gles,  filling  the  angle  of  the  confluence  of  the  Con 
cord  and  the  Merrimac  with  the  sights  and  sounds 
of  trade  and  industry.  Marvellously  here  have  art 
and  labor  wrought  their  modern  miracles.  I  can 
scarcely  realize  the  fact  that  a  few  years  ago  these 
rivers,  now  tamed  and  subdued  to  the  purposes  of 
man  and  charmed  into  slavish  subjection  to  the 
wizard  of  mechanism,  rolled  unchecked  towards  the 
ocean  the  waters  of  the  Winnipesaukee  and  the 
rock-rimmed  springs  of  the  White  Mountains,  and 
rippled  down  their  falls  in  the  wild  freedom  of  Na 
ture.  A  stranger,  in  view  of  all  this  wonderful 
change,  feels  himself,  as  it  were,  thrust  forward  into 
a  new  century ;  he  seems  treading  on  the  outer  cir 
cle  of  the  millennium  of  steam  engines  and  cotton 
mills.  Work  is  here  the  patron  saint.  Everything 
bears  his  image  and  superscription.  Here  is  no 
place  for  that  respectable  class  of  citizens  called  gen 
tlemen,  and  their  much  vilified  brethren,  familiarly 
known  as  loafers.  Over  the  gateways  of  this  new- 
world  Manchester  glares  the  inscription,  "  Work, 
or  die  !  "  Here 


352  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

' '  Every  worm  beneath  the  moon 
Draws  different  threads,  and  late  or  soon 
Spins,  toiling  out  his  own  cocoon." 

The  founders  of  this  city  probably  never  dreamed 
of  the  theory  of  Charles  Lamb  in  respect  to  the 
origin  of  labor :  — 

"  Who  first  invented  work,  and  thereby  bound 

The  holiday  rejoicing  spirit  down 
To  the  never-ceasing  importunity 

Of  business  in  the  green  fields  and  the  town  ? 
Sabbathless  Satan,  —  he  who  his  unglad 

Task  ever  plies  midst  rotatory  burnings  ; 
For  wrath  divine  has  made  him  like  a  wheel 

In  that  red  realm  from  whence  are  no  returnings." 

Rather,  of  course,  would  they  adopt  Carlyle's  apos 
trophe  of  "  Divine  labor,  noble,  ever  fruitful, —  the 
grand,  sole  miracle  of  man ; "  for  this  is  indeed  a 
city  consecrated  to  thrift,  —  dedicated,  every  square 
rod  of  it,  to  the  divinity  of  work  ;  the  gospel  of  in 
dustry  preached  daily  and  hourly  from  some  thirty 
temples,  each  huger  than  the  Milan  Cathedral  or 
the  Temple  of  Jeddo,  the  Mosque  of  St.  Sophia  or 
the  Chinese  pagoda  of  a  hundred  bells ;  its  mighty 
sermons  uttered  by  steam  and  water-power ;  its 
music  the  everlasting  jar  of  mechanism  and  the 
organ-swell  of  many  waters  ;  scattering  the  cotton 
and  woollen  leaves  of  its  evangel  from  the  wings  of 
steamboats  and  rail-cars  throughout  the  land ;  its 
thousand  priests  and  its  thousands  of  priestesses 
ministering  around  their  spinning-jenny  and  power- 
loom  altars,  or  thronging  the  long,  unshaded  streets 
in  the  level  light  of  sunset.  After  all,  it  may  well 
be  questioned  whether  this  gospel,  according  to  Poor 
Richard's  Almanac,  is  precisely  calculated  for  the 


THE   CITY  OF  A    DAY  353 

redemption  of  humanity.  Labor,  graduated  to 
man's  simple  wants,  necessities,  and  unperverted 
tastes,  is  doubtless  well ;  but  all  beyond  this  is  wea 
riness  to  flesh  and  spirit.  Every  web  which  falls 
from  these  restless  looms  has  a  history  more  or  less 
connected  with  sin  and  suffering,  beginning  with 
slavery  and  ending  with  overwork  and  premature 
death. 

A  few  years  ago,  while  travelling  in  Pennsylva 
nia,  I  encountered  a  small,  dusky-browed  German 
of  the  name  of  Etzler.  He  was  possessed  by  a  be 
lief  that  the  world  was  to  be  restored  to  its  para 
disiacal  state  by  the  sole  agency  of  mechanics,  and 
that  he  had  himself  discovered  the  means  of  bring 
ing  about  this  very  desirable  consummation.  His 
whole  mental  atmosphere  was  thronged  with  spec 
tral  enginery  ;  wheel  within  wheel ;  plans  of  hugest 
mechanism  ;  Brobdignagian  steam-engines  ;  Niag 
aras  of  water-power;  wind-mills  with  "sail-broad 
vans,"  like  those  of  Satan  in  chaos,  by  the  proper 
application  of  which  every  valley  was  to  be  exalted 
and  every  hill  laid  low  ;  old  forests  seized  by  their 
snaggy  toPs  and  uprooted  ;  old  morasses  drained  ; 
the  tropics  made  cool;  the  eternal  ices  melted 
around  the  poles  ;  the  ocean  itself  covered  with  ar 
tificial  islands,  blossoming  gardens  of  the  blessed, 
rocking  gently  on  the  bosom  of  the  deep.  Give 
him  "  three  hundred  thousand  dollars  and  ten  years' 
time,"  and  he  would  undertake  to  do  the  work. 
Wrong,  pain,  and  sin,  being  in  his  view  but  the  re 
sults  of  our  physical  necessities,  ill-gratified  desires, 
and  natural  yearnings  for  a  better  state,  were  to 
vanish  before  the  millennium  of  mechanism.  "  It 


354  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

would  be,"  said  he,  "  as  ridiculous  then  to  dispute 
and  quarrel  about  the  means  of  life  as  it  would  be 
now  about  water  to  drink  by  the  side  of  mighty 
rivers,  or  about  permission  to  breathe  the  common 
air."  To  his  mind  the  great  forces  of  Nature  took 
the  shape  of  mighty  and  benignant  spirits,  sent 
hitherward  to  be  the  servants  of  man  in  restoring  to 
him  his  lost  paradise  ;  waiting  only  for  his  word  of 
command  to  apply  their  giant  energies  to  the  task, 
but  as  yet  struggling  blindly  and  aimlessly,  giving 
ever  and  anon  gentle  hints,  in  the  way  of  earth 
quake,  fire,  and  flood,  that  they  are  weary  of  idle 
ness,  and  would  fain  be  set  at  work.  Looking 
down,  as  I  now  do,  upon  these  huge  brick  work 
shops,  I  have  thought  of  poor  Etzler,  and  wondered 
whether  he  would  admit,  were  he  with  me,  that  his 
mechanical  forces  have  here  found  their  proper  em 
ployment  of  millennium  making.  Grinding  on,  each 
in  his  iron  harness,  invisible,  yet  shaking,  by  his 
regulated  and  repressed  power,  his  huge  prison- 
house  from  basement  to  capstone,  is  it  true  that 
the  genii  of  mechanism  are  really  at  work  here, 
raising  us,  by  wheel  and  pulley,  steam  and  water- 
power,  slowly  up  that  inclined  plane  from  whose 
top  stretches  the  broad  table-land  of  promise  ? 

Many  of  the  streets  of  Lowell  present  a  lively 
and  neat  aspect,  and  are  adorned  with  handsome 
public  and  private  buildings;  but  they  lack  one 
pleasant  feature  of  older  towns,  —  broad,  spread 
ing  shade-trees.  One  feels  disposed  to  quarrel 
with  the  characteristic  utilitarianism  of  the  first 
settlers,  which  swept  so  entirely  away  the  green 
beauty  of  Nature.  For  the  last  few  days  it  has 


THE   CITY  OF  A   DAY  355 

been  as  hot  here  as  Nebuchadnezzar's  furnace  or 
Monsieur  Chabert's  oven,  the  sun  glaring  down  from 
a  copper  sky  upon  these  naked,  treeless  streets,  in 
traversing  which  one  is  tempted  to  adopt  the  lan 
guage  of  a  warm-weather  poet :  — 

"  The  lean,  like  walking1  skeletons,  go  stalking  pale  and  gloomy ; 
The  fat,  like  redhot  warming-pans,  send  hotter  fancies  through 

me; 

I  wake  from  dreams  of  polar  ice,  on  which  I  Ve  been  a  slider, 
Like  fishes  dreaming  of  the  sea  and  waking  in  the  spider." 

How  unlike  the  elm-lined  avenues  of  New  Ha 
ven,  upon  whose  cool  and  graceful  panorama  the 
stranger  looks  down  upon  the  Judge's  Cave,  or  the 
vine-hung  pinnacles  of  West  Rock,  its  tall  spires 
rising  white  and  clear  above  the  level  greenness  !  — 
or  the  breezy  leafmess  of  Portland,  with  its  wooded 
islands  in  the  distance,  and  itself  overhung  with 
verdant  beauty,  rippling  and  waving  in  the  same 
cool  breeze  which  stirs  the  waters  of  the  beautiful 
Bay  of  Casco  !  But  time  will  remedy  all  this ;  and, 
when  Lowell  shall  have  numbered  half  the  years 
of  her  sister  cities,  her  newly  planted  elms  and 
maples,  which  now  only  cause  us  to  contrast  their 
shadeless  stems  with  the  leafy  glory  of  their  par 
ents  of  the  forest,  will  stretch  out  to  the  future 
visitor  arms  of  welcome  and  repose. 

There  is  one  beautiful  grove  in  Lowell,  —  that 
on  Chapel  Hill,  —  where  a  cluster  of  fine  old  oaks 
lift  their  sturdy  stems  and  green  branches,  in  close 
proximity  to  the  crowded  city,  blending  the  cool 
rustle  of  their  leaves  with  the  din  of  machinery. 
As  I  look  at  them  in  this  gray  twilight  they  seem 
lonely  and  isolated,  as  if  wondering  what  has  be- 


356  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

come  of  their  old  forest  companions,  and  vainly 
endeavoring  to  recognize  in  the  thronged  and  dusty 
streets  before  them  those  old,  graceful  colonnades 
of  maple  and  thick-shaded  oaken  vistas,  stretching 
from  river  to  river,  carpeted  with  the  flowers  and 
grasses  of  spring,  or  ankle  deep  with  leaves  of  au 
tumn,  through  whose  leafy  canopy  the  sunlight 
melted  in  upon  wild  birds,  shy  deer,  and  red  In 
dians.  Long  may  these  oaks  remain  to  remind  us 
that,  if  there  be  utility  in  the  new,  there  was 
beauty  in  the  old,  leafy  Puseyites  of  Nature,  call 
ing  us  back  to  the  past,  but,  like  their  Oxford 
brethren,  calling  in  vain ;  for  neither  in  polemics 
nor  in  art  can  we  go  backward  in  an  age  whose 
motto  is  ever  u  Onward." 

The  population  of  Lowell  is  constituted  mainly 
of  New  Englanders  ;  but  there  are  representatives 
here  of  almost  every  part  of  the  civilized  world. 
The  good-humored  face  of  the  Milesian  meets 
one  at  almost  every  turn ;  the  shrewdly  solemn 
Scotchman,  the  transatlantic  Yankee,  blending  the 
crafty  thrift  of  Bryce  Snailsfoot  with  the  stern  re 
ligious  heroism  of  Cameron ;  the  blue-eyed,  fair- 
haired  German  from  the  towered  hills  which  over 
look  the  Khine,  —  slow,  heavy,  and  unpromising 
in  his  exterior,  yet  of  the  same  mould  and  mettle 
of  the  men  who  rallied  for  "  fatherland  "  at  the 
Tyrtean  call  of  Korner  and  beat  back  the  chivalry 
of  France  from  the  banks  of  the  Katzback,  —  the 
countrymen  of  Richter,  and  Goethe,  and  our  own 
Follen.  Here,  too,  are  pedlers  from  Hamburg, 
and  Bavaria,  and  Poland,  with  their  sharp  Jewish 
faces,  and  black,  keen  eyes.  At  this  moment, 


THE   CITY  OF  A    DA  Y  357 

beneath  my  window  are  two  sturdy,  sunbrowned 
Swiss  maidens  grinding  music  for  a  livelihood,  re 
hearsing  in  a  strange  Yankee  land  the  simple  songs 
of  their  old  mountain  home,  reminding  me,  by 
their  foreign  garb  and  language,  of 

"  Lauterbrunnen's  peasant  girl." 

Poor  wanderers  !  I  cannot  say  that  I  love  their 
music  ;  but  now,  as  the  notes  die  away,  and,  to  use 
the  words  of  Dr.  Holmes,  "  silence  comes  like  a 
poultice  to  heal  the  wounded  ear,"  I  feel  grateful 
for  their  visitation.  Away  from  crowded  thor 
oughfares,  from  brick  walls  and  dusty  avenues,  at 
the  sight  of  these  poor  peasants  I  have  gone  in 
thought  to  the  vale  of  Chamouny,  and  seen,  with 
Coleridge,  the  morning  star  pausing  on  the  "  bald, 
awful  head  of  sovereign  Blanc,"  and  the  sun  rise 
and  set  upon  snowy-crested  mountains,  down  in 
whose  valleys  the  night  still  lingers  ;  and,  follow 
ing  in  the  track  of  Byron  and  Rousseau,  have 
watched  the  lengthening  shadows  of  the  hills  oh 
the  beautiful  waters  of  the  Genevan  lake.  Bless 
ings,  then,  upon  these  young  wayfarers,  for  they 
have  "  blessed  me  unawares."  In  an  hour  of  sick 
ness  and  lassitude  they  have  wrought  for  me  the 
miracle  of  Loretto's  Chapel,  and  borne  me  away 
from  the  scenes  around  me  and  the  sense  of  per 
sonal  suffering  to  that  wonderful  land  where 
Nature  seems  still  uttering,  from  lake  and  valley, 
and  from  mountains  whose  eternal  snows  lean  on 
the  hard,  blue  heaven,  the  echoes  of  that  mighty 
hymn  of  a  new-created  world,  when  "the  morning 
stars  sang  together,  and  all  the  sons  of  God  shouted 
for  joy." 


358  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

But  of  all  classes  of  foreigners  the  Irish  are  by 
far  the  most  numerous.  Light-hearted,  wrong- 
headed,  impulsive,  uncalculating,  with  an  Oriental 
love  of  hyperbole,  and  top  often  a  common  dislike 
of  cold  water  and  of  that  gem  which  the  fable  tells 
us  rests  at  the  bottom  of  the  well,  the  Celtic  ele 
ments  of  their  character  do  not  readily  accommo 
date  themselves  to  those  of  the  hard,  cool,  self- 
relying  Anglo-Saxon.  I  am  free  to  confess  to  a 
very  thorough  dislike  of  their  religious  intolerance 
and  bigotry,  but  am  content  to  wait  for  the  change 
that  time  and  the  attrition  of  new  circumstances 
and  ideas  must  necessarily  make  in  this  respect. 
Meanwhile  I  would  strive  to  reverence  man  as 
man,  irrespective  of  his  birthplace.  A  stranger  in 
a  strange  land  is  always  to  me  an  object  of  sym 
pathy  and  interest.  Amidst  all  his  apparent  gay- 
ety  of  heart  and  national  drollery  and  wit,  the  poor 
Irish  emigrant  has  sad  thoughts  of  the  "  ould 
mother  of  him,"  sitting  lonely  in  her  solitary  cabin 
by  the  bog-side ;  recollections  of  a  father's  bless 
ing  and  a  sister's  farewell  are  haunting  him  ;  a 
grave  mound  in  a  distant  churchyard  far  beyond 
the  "  wide  wathers  "  has  an  eternal  greenness  in 
his  memory  ;  for  there,  perhaps,  lies  a  "  darlint 
child  "  or  a  "  swate  crather  "  who  once  loved  him. 
The  new  world  is  forgotten  for  the  moment ;  blue 
Killarney  and  the  Liffey  sparkle  before  him,  and 
Glendalough  stretches  beneath  him  its  dark,  still 
mirror ;  he  sees  the  same  evening  sunshine  rest 
upon  and  hallow  alike  with  Nature's  blessing  the 
ruins  of  the  Seven  Churches  of  Ireland's  apostolic 
age,  the  broken  mound  of  the  Druids,  and  the 


THE   CITY  OF  A    DAY  359 

round  towers  of  the  Phoenician  sun-worshippers ; 
pleasant  and  mournful  recollections  of  his  home 
waken  within  him  ;  and  the  rough  and  seemingly 
careless  and  light-hearted  laborer  melts  into  tears. 
It  is  no  light  thing  to  abandon  one's  own  country 
and  household  gods.  Touching  and  beautiful  was 
the  injunction  of  the  prophet  of  the  Hebrews : 
"  Ye  shall  not  oppress  the  stranger ;  for  ye  know 
the  heart  of  the  stranger,  seeing  that  ye  were 
strangers  in  the  land  of  Egypt." 


PATUCKET  FALLS. 

MANY  years  ago  I  read,  in  some  old  chronicle 
of  the  early  history  of  New  England,  a  paragraph 
which  has  ever  since  haunted  my  memory,  calling 
up  romantic  associations  of  wild  Nature  and  wilder 
man :  — 

"  The  Sachem  Wonolanset,  who  lived  by  the 
Great  Falls  of  Patucket,  on  the  Merrimac." 

It  was  with  this  passage  in  my  mind  that  I  vis 
ited  for  the  first  time  the  Kapids  of  the  Merrimac, 
above  Lowell. 

Passing  up  the  street  by  the  Hospital,  a  large 
and  elegant  mansion  surrounded  by  trees  and 
shrubbery  and  climbing  vines,  I  found  myself, 
after  walking  a  few  rods  farther,  in  full  view  of 
the  Merrimac.  A  deep  and  rocky  channel  stretched 
between  me  and  the  Dracut  shore,  along  which 
rushed  the  shallow  water,  —  a  feeble,  broken,  and 
tortuous  current,  winding  its  way  among  splintered 
rocks,  rising  sharp  and  jagged  in  all  directions. 
Drained  above  the  falls  by  the  canal,  it  resembled 
some  mountain  streamlet  of  old  Spain,  or  some 
Arabian  wady,  exhausted  by  a  year's  drought. 
Higher  up,  the  arches  of  the  bridge  spanned  the 
quick,  troubled  water ;  and,  higher  still,  the  dam, 
so  irregular  in  its  outline  as  to  seem  less  a  work  of 
Art  than  of  Nature,  crossed  the  bed  of  the  river,  — 


PA  TUCKET  FALLS  361 

a  lakelike  placidity  above  contrasting  with  the 
foam  and  murmur  of  the  falls  below.  And  this 
was  all  which  modern  improvements  had  left  of 
"  the  great  Patucket  Falls  "  of  the  olden  time. 
The  wild  river  had  been  tamed ;  the  spirit  of  the 
falls,  whose  hoarse  voice  the  Indian  once  heard  in 
the  dashing  of  the  great  water  down  the  rocks,  had 
become  the  slave  of  the  arch  conjurer,  Art ;  and, 
like  a  shorn  and  blinded  giant,  was  grinding  in 
the  prison-house  of  his  taskmaster. 

One  would  like  to  know  how  this  spot  must  have 
seemed  to  the  "  twenty  goodlie  persons  from  Con 
cord  and  Woburn  "  who  first  visited  it  in  1652,  as, 
worn  with  fatigue,  and  wet  from  the  passage  of  the 
sluggish  Concord,  "  where  ford  there  was  none," 
they  wound  their  slow  way  through  the  forest,  fol 
lowing  the  growing  murmur  of  the  falls,  until  at 
length  the  broad,  swift  river  stretched  before  them, 
its  white  spray  flashing  in  the  sun.  What  cared 
these  sturdy  old  Puritans  for  the  wild  beauty  of 
the  landscape  thus  revealed  before  them?  I  think 
I  see  them  standing  there  in  the  golden  light  of  a 
closing  October  day,  with  their  sombre  brown  doub 
lets  and  slouched  hats,  and  their  heavy  matchlocks, 
—  such  men  as  Ireton  fronted  death  with  on  the 
battle-field  of  Naseby,  or  those  who  stalked  with 
Cromwell  over  the  broken  wall  of  Drogheda,  smit 
ing,  "  in  the  name  of  the  Lord,"  old  and  young, 
"  both  maid,  and  little  children."  Methinks  I  see 
the  sunset  light  flooding  the  river  valley,  the  west 
ern  hills  stretching  to  the  horizon,  overhung  with 
trees  gorgeous  and  glowing  with  the  tints  of  au 
tumn,  —  a  mighty  flower-garden,  blossoming  under 


362  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

the  spell  of  the  enchanter,  Frost ;  the  rushing  river, 
with  its  graceful  water-curves  and  white  foam  ; 
and  a  steady  murmur,  low,  deep  voices  of  water, 
the  softest,  sweetest  sound  of  Nature,  blends  with 
the  sigh  of  the  south  wind  in  the  pine-tops.  But 
these  hard-featured  saints  of  the  New  Canaan  "  care 
for  none  of  these  things."  The  stout  hearts  which 
beat  under  their  leathern  doublets  are  proof  against 
the  sweet  influences  of  Nature.  They  see  only  "  a 
great  and  howling  wilderness,  where  be  many  In 
dians,  but  where  fish  may  be  taken,  and  where  be 
meadows  for  ye  subsistence  of  cattle,"  and  which, 
on  the  whole,  "  is  a  comfortable  place  to  accommo 
date  a  company  of  God's  people  upon,  who  may, 
with  God's  blessing,  do  good  in  that  place  for  both 
church  and  state."  (  Vide  petition  to  the  General 
Court,  1653.) 

In  reading  the  journals  and  narratives  of  the 
early  settlers  of  New  England  nothing  is  more  re 
markable  than  the  entire  silence  of  the  worthy  writ 
ers  in  respect  to  the  natural  beauty  or  grandeur  of 
the  scenery  amid  which  their  lot  was  cast.  They 
designated  the  grand  and  glorious  forest,  broken  by 
lakes  and  crossed  by  great  rivers,  intersected  by  a 
thousand  streams  more  beautiful  than  those  which 
the  Old  World  has  given  to  song  and  romance,  as 
"  a  desert  and  frightful  wilderness."  The  wildly 
picturesque  Indian,  darting  his  birch  canoe  down 
the  Falls  of  the  Amoskeag  or  gliding  in  the  deer- 
track  of  the  forest,  was,  in  their  view,  nothing  but 
a  "  dirty  tawnie,"  a  "  salvage  heathen,"  and  "  dev 
il's  imp."  Many  of  them  were  well  educated,  — 
men  of  varied  and  profound  erudition,  and  familiar 


PATUCKET  FALLS  363 

with  the  best  specimens  of  Greek  and  Roman  lit 
erature  ;  yet  they  seem  to  have  been  utterly  devoid 
of  that  poetic  feeling  or  fancy  whose  subtle  alchemy 
detects  the  beautiful  in  the  familiar.  Their  very 
hymns  and  spiritual  songs  seem  to  have  been  ex 
pressly  calculated,  like  "  the  music-grinders  "  of 
Holmes,  — 

tl  To  pluck  the  eyes  of  sentiment, 
And  dock  the  tail  of  rhyme, 
To  crack  the  voice  of  melody, 
And  break  the  legs  of  time." 

They  were  sworn  enemies  of  the  Muses ;  haters 
of  stage-play  literature,  profane  songs,  and  wanton 
sonnets  ;  of  everything,  in  brief,  which  reminded 
them  of  the  days  of  the  roistering  cavaliers  and  be 
dizened  beauties  of  the  court  of  "the  man  Charles," 
whose  head  had  fallen  beneath  the  sword  of  Puri 
tan  justice.  Hard,  harsh,  unlovely,  yet  with  many 
virtues  and  noble  points  of  character,  they  were 
fitted,  doubtless,  for  their  work  of  pioneers  in  the 
wilderness.  Sternly  faithful  to  duty,  in  peril,  and 
suffering,  and  self-denial,  they  wrought  out  the 
noblest  of  historical  epics  on  the  rough  soil  of  New 
England.  They  lived  a  truer  poetry  than  Homer 
or  Virgil  wrote. 

The  Patuckets,  once  a  powerful  native  tribe,  had 
their  principal  settlements  around  the  falls  at  the 
time  of  the  visit  of  the  white  men  of  Concord  and 
Woburn  in  1652.  Gookin,  the  Indian  historian, 
states  that  this  tribe  was  almost  wholly  destroyed 
by  the  great  pestilence  of  1612.  In  1674  they  had 
but  two  hundred  and  fifty  males  in  the  whole  tribe. 
Their  chief  sachem  lived  opposite  the  falls  ;  and  it 


364  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

was  in  his  wigwam  that  the  historian,  in  company 
with  John  Eliot,  the  Indian  missionary,  held  a 
"  meeting  for  worshippe  on  ye  5th  of  May,  1676," 
where  Mr.  Eliot  preached  from  "  ye  twenty-second 
of  Matthew." 

The  white  visitants  from  Concord  and  Woburn, 
pleased  with  the  appearance  of  the  place  and  the 
prospect  it  afforded  for  planting  and  fishing,  peti 
tioned  the  General  Court  for  a  grant  of  the  entire 
tract  of  land  now  embraced  in  the  limits  of  Lowell 
and  Chelmsford.  They  made  no  account  whatever 
of  the  rights  of  the  poor  Patuckets  ;  but,  consider 
ing  it  "  a  comfortable  place  to  accommodate  God's 
people  upon,"  were  doubtless  prepared  to  deal  with 
the  heathen  inhabitants  as  Joshua  the  son  of  Nun 
did  with  the  Jebusites  and  Perizzites,  the  Hivites 
and  the  Hittites,  of  old.  The  Indians,  however, 
found  a  friend  in  the  apostle  Eliot,  who  presented 
a  petition  in  their  behalf  that  the  lands  lying 
around  the  Patucket  and  Wamesit  Falls  should  be 
appropriated  exclusively  for  their  benefit  and  use. 
The  Court  granted  the  petition  of  the  whites,  with 
the  exception  of  the  tract  in  the  angle  of  the  two 
rivers  on  which  the  Patuckets  were  settled.  The 
Indian  title  to  this  tract  was  not  finally  extin 
guished  until  1726,  when  the  beautiful  name  of 
Wamesit  was  lost  in  that  of  Chelmsford,  and  the 
last  of  the  Patuckets  turned  his  back  upon  the 
graves  of  his  fathers  and  sought  a  new  home  among 
the  strange  Indians  of  the  North. 

But  what  has  all  this  to  do  with  the  falls? 
When  the  rail-cars  came  thundering  through  his 
lake  country,  Wordsworth  attempted  to  exorcise 


PA  TUCKET  FALLS  365 

them  by  a  sonnet ;  and,  were  I  not  a  very  decided 
Yankee,  I  might  possibly  follow  his  example,  and 
utter  in  this  connection  my  protest  against  the  dese 
cration  of  Patucket  Falls,  and  battle  with  objurga 
tory  stanzas  these  dams  and  mills,  as  Balmawhapple 
shot  off  his  horse-pistol  at  Stirling  Castle.  Kocks 
and  trees,  rapids,  cascades,  and  other  water-works 
are  doubtless  all  very  well ;  but  on  the  whole,  con 
sidering  our  seven  months  of  frost,  are  not  cotton 
shirts  and  woollen  coats  still  better  ?  As  for  the 
spirits  of  the  river,  the  Merrimac  Naiads,  or  what 
ever  may  be  their  name  in  Indian  vocabulary,  they 
have  no  good  reason  for  complaint ;  inasmuch  as 
Nature,  in  marking  and  scooping  out  the  channel 
of  their  stream,  seems  to  have  had  an  eye  to  the 
useful  rather  than  the  picturesque.  After  a  few 
preliminary  antics  and  youthful  vagaries  up  among 
the  White  Hills,  the  Merrimac  comes  down  to  the 
seaboard,  a  clear,  cheerful,  hard-working  Yankee 
river.  Its  numerous  falls  and  rapids  are  such  as 
seem  to  invite  the  engineer's  level  rather  than  the 
pencil  of  the  tourist ;  and  the  mason  who  piles  up 
the  huge  brick  fabrics  at  their  feet  is  seldom,  I  sus 
pect,  troubled  with  sentimental  remorse  or  poetical 
misgivings.  Staid  and  matter  of  fact  as  the  Merri 
mac  is,  it  has,  nevertheless,  certain  capricious  and 
eccentric  tributaries;  the  Powow,  for  instance, 
with  its  eighty  feet  fall  in  a  few  rods,  and  that 
wild,  Indian-haunted  Spicket,  taking  its  wellnigh 
perpendicular  leap  of  thirty  feet,  within  sight  of  the 
village  meeting-house,  kicking  up  its  Pagan  heels, 
Sundays  and  all,  in  sheer  contempt  of  Puritan  tith- 
ing-men.  This  latter  waterfall  is  now  somewhat 


366  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

modified  by  the  hand  of  Art,  but  is  still,  as  Profes 
sor  Hitchcock's  " Scenographical  Geology"  says  of 
it,  "  an  object  of  no  little  interest."  My  friend  T., 
favorably  known  as  the  translator  of  "  Undine  " 
and  as  a  writer  of  fine  and  delicate  imagination, 
visited  Spicket  Falls  before  the  sound  of  a  hammer 
or  the  click  of  a  trowel  had  been  heard  beside 
them.  His  journal  of  "A  Day  on  theMerrimac" 
gives  a  pleasing  and  vivid  description  of  their  origi 
nal  appearance  as  viewed  through  the  telescope  of 
a  poetic  fancy.  The  readers  of  "  Undine  "  will 
thank  me  for  a  passage  or  two  from  this  sketch  :  — 

"  The  sound  of  the  waters  swells  more  deeply. 
Something  supernatural  in  their  confused  murmur  ; 
it  makes  me  better  understand  and  sympathize  with 
the  writer  of  the  Apocalypse  when  he  speaks  of  the 
voice  of  many  waters,  heaping  image  upon  image, 
to  impart  the  vigor  of  his  conception. 

"  Through  yonder  elm-branches  I  catch  a  few 
snowy  glimpses  of  foam  in  the  air.  See  that  spray 
and  vapor  rolling  up  the  evergreen  on  my  left ! 
The  two  side  precipices,  one  hundred  feet  apart  and 
excluding  objects  of  inferior  moment,  darken  and 
concentrate  the  view.  The  waters  between  pour 
over  the  right-hand  and  left-hand  summit,  rushing 
down  and  uniting  among  the  craggiest  and  abrupt- 
est  of  rocks.  Oh  for  a  whole  mountain-side  of  that 
living  foam  !  The  sun  impresses  a  faint  prismatic 
hue.  These  falls,  compared  with  those  of  the 
Missouri,  are  nothing,  —  nothing  but  the  merest 
miniature  ;  and  yet  they  assist  me  in  forming  some 
conception  of  that  glorious  expanse. 

"  A  fragment  of  an  oak,  struck  off  by  lightning, 


PATUCKET  FALLS  367 

struggles  with  the  current  midway  down ;  while  the 
shattered  trunk  frowns  above  the  desolation,  majes 
tic  in  ruin.  This  is  near  the  southern  cliff.  Far 
ther  north  a  crag  rises  out  of  the  stream,  its  upper 
surface  covered  with  green  clover  of  the  most  vivid 
freshness.  Not  only  all  night,  but  all  day,  has  the 
dew  lain  upon  its  purity. 

"  With  my  eye  attaining  the  uppermost  margin, 
where  the  waters  shoot  over,  I  look  away  into  the 
western  sky,  and  discern  there  (what  you  least  ex 
pect)  a  cow  chewing  her  cud  with  admirable  com 
posure,  and  higher  up  several  sheep  and  lambs 
browsing  cele'stial  buds.  They  stand  on  the  emi 
nence  that  forms  the  background  of  my  present 
view.  The  illusion  is  extremely  picturesque,  — 
such  as  Allston  himself  would  despair  of  produ 
cing.  '  Who  can  paint  like  Nature '  ?  " 


FIRST  DAY  IN  LOWELL. 

To  a  population  like  that  of  Lowell,  the  weekly 
respite  from  monotonous  in-door  toil  afforded  by 
the  first  day  of  the  week  is  particularly  grateful. 
Sabbath  comes  to  the  weary  and  overworked  oper 
ative  emphatically  as  a  day  of  rest.  It  opens 
upon  him  somewhat  as  it  did  upon  George  Her 
bert,  as  he  describes  it  in  his  exquisite  little 
poem  :  — 

"Sweet  day,  so  cool,  so  calm,  so  bright, 
The  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky !  " 

Apart  from  its  soothing  religious  associations,  it 
brings  with  it  the  assurance  of  physical  comfort 
and  freedom.  It  is  something  to  be  able  to  doze 
out  the  morning  from  daybreak  to  breakfast  in 
that  luxurious  state  between  sleeping  and  waking 
in  which  the  mind  eddies  slowly  and  peacefully 
round  and  round  instead  of  rushing  onward,  —  the 
future  a  blank,  the  past  annihilated,  the  present 
but  a  dim  consciousness  of  pleasurable  existence. 
Then,  too,  the  satisfaction  is  by  no  means  incon 
siderable  of  throwing  aside  the  worn  and  soiled 
habiliments  of  labor  and  appearing  in  neat  and 
comfortable  attire.  The  moral  influence  of  dress 
has  not  been  overrated  even  by  Carlyle's  Professor 
in  his  Sartor  JResartus.  William  Penn  says  that 
cleanliness  is  akin  to  godliness.  A  well-dressed 
man,  all  other  things  being  equal,  is  not  half  as 


FIRST  DAY  IN  LOWELL  369 

likely  to  compromise  his  character  as  one  who  ap 
proximates  to  shabbiness.  Laurence  Sterne  used 
to  say  that  when  he  felt  himself  giving  way  to  low 
spirits  and  a  sense  of  depression  and  worthless- 
ness,  —  a  sort  of  predisposition  for  all  sorts  of 
little  meannesses,  —  he  forthwith  shaved  himself, 
brushed  his  wig,  donned  his  best  dress  and  his 
gold  rings,  and  thus  put  to  flight  the  azure  demons 
of  his  unfortunate  temperament.  There  is  some 
how  a  close  affinity  between  moral  purity  and  clean 
linen ;  and  the  sprites  of  our  daily  temptation,  who 
seem  to  find  easy  access  to  us  through  a  broken 
hat  or  a  rent  in  the  elbow,  are  manifestly  baffled 
by  the  "  complete  mail "  of  a  clean  and  decent 
dress.  I  recollect  on  one  occasion  hearing  my 
mother  tell  our  family  physician  that  a  woman  in 
the  neighborhood,  not  remarkable  for  her  tidiness, 
had  become  a  church-member.  "  Humph  !  "  said 
the  doctor,  in  his  quick,  sarcastic  way,  "  What  of 
that  ?  Don't  you  know  that  no  unclean  thing  can 
enter  the  kingdom  of  heaven  ?  " 

"  If  you  would  see  "  Lowell  "  aright,"  as  "Walter 
Scott  says  of  Melrose  Abbey,  one  must  be  here  of 
a  pleasant  First  day  at  the  close  of  what  is  called 
the  "afternoon  service."  The  streets  are  then 
blossoming  like  a  peripatetic  flower-garden ;  as  if 
the  tulips  and  lilies  and  roses  of  my  friend  W.'s 
nursery,  in  the  vale  of  Nonantum,  should  take  it 
into  their  heads  to  promenade  for  exercise.  Thou 
sands  swarm  forth  who  during  week-days  are  con 
fined  to  the  mills.  Gay  colors  alternate  with 
snowy  whiteness ;  extremest  fashion  elbows  the 
plain  demureness  of  old-fashioned  Methodism. 


370  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

Fair  pale  faces  catch  a  warmer  tint  from  the  free 
sunshine  and  fresh  air.  The  languid  step  becomes 
elastic  with  that  "springy  motion  of  the  gait" 
which  Charles  Lamb  admired.  Yet  the  general 
appearance  of  the  city  is  that  of  quietude  ;  the 
youthful  multitude  passes  on  calmly,  its  voices  sub 
dued  to  a  lower  and  softened  tone,  as  if  fearful  of 
breaking  the  repose  of  the  day  of  rest.  A  stranger 
fresh  from  the  gayly  spent  Sabbaths  of  the  conti 
nent  of  Europe  would  be  undoubtedly  amazed  at 
the  decorum  and  sobriety  of  these  crowded  streets. 

I  am  not  over-precise  in  outward  observances ; 
but  I  nevertheless  welcome  with  joy  unfeigned  this 
first  day  of  the  week,  —  sweetest  pause  in  our  hard 
life-march,  greenest  resting-place  in  the  hot  desert 
we  are  treading.  The  errors  of  those  who  mistake 
its  benignant  rest  for  the  iron  rule  of  the  Jewish 
Sabbath,  and  who  consequently  hedge  it  about  with 
penalties  and  bow  down  before  it  in  slavish  terror, 
should  not  render  us  less  grateful  for  the  real  bless 
ing  it  brings  us.  As  a  day  wrested  in  some  de 
gree  from  the  god  of  this  world,  as  an  opportunity 
afforded  for  thoughtful  self-communing,  let  us  re 
ceive  it  as  a  good  gift  of  our  heavenly  Parent  in 
love  rather  than  fear. 

In  passing  along  Central  Street  this  morning  my 
attention  was  directed  by  the  friend  who  accom 
panied  me  to  a  group  of  laborers,  with  coats  off 
and  sleeves  rolled  up,  heaving  at  levers,  smiting 
with  sledge-hammers,  in  full  view  of  the  street,  on 
the  margin  of  the  canal,  just  above  Central  Street 
Bridge.  I  rubbed  my  eyes,  half  expecting  that 
I  was  the  subject  of  mere  optical  illusion ;  but  a 


FIRST  DAY  IN  LOWELL  371 

second  look  only  confirmed  the  first.  Around  me 
were  solemn,  go-to-meeting  faces,  —  smileless  and 
awful ;  and  close  at  hand  were  the  delving,  toiling, 
mud-begrimed  laborers.  Nobody  seemed  surprised 
at  it ;  nobody  noticed  it  as  a  thing  out  of  the  com 
mon  course  of  events.  And  this,  too,  in  a  city 
where  the  Sabbath  proprieties  are  sternly  insisted 
upon  ;  where  some  twenty  pulpits  deal  out  anath 
emas  upon  all  who  "  desecrate  the  Lord's  day  ;  " 
where  simple  notices  of  meetings  for  moral  pur 
poses  even  can  scarcely  be  read ;  where  many 
count  it  wrong  to  speak  on  that  day  for  the  slave, 
who  knows  no  Sabbath  of  rest,  or  for  the  drunk 
ard,  who,  imbruted  by  his  appetites,  cannot  enjoy 
it.  Verily  there  are  strange  contradictions  in  our 
conventional  morality.  Eyes  which,  looking  across 
the  Atlantic  on  the  gay  Sabbath  dances  of  French 
peasants  are  turned  upward  with  horror,  are  some 
how  blind  to  matters  close  at  home.  What  would 
be  sin  past  repentance  in  an  individual  becomes 
quite  proper  in  a  corporation.  True,  the  Sabbath 
is  holy ;  but  the  canals  must  be  repaired.  Every 
body  ought  to  go  to  meeting ;  but  the  dividends 
must  not  be  diminished.  Church  indulgences  are 
not,  after  all,  confined  to  Home. 

To  a  close  observer  of  human  nature  there  is 
nothing  surprising  in  the  fact  that  a  class  of  per 
sons,  who  wink  at  this  sacrifice  of  Sabbath  sancti 
ties  to  the  demon  of  gain,  look  at  the  same  time 
with  stern  disapprobation  upon  everything  partak 
ing  of  the  character  of  amusement,  however  inno 
cent  and  healthful,  on  this  day.  But  for  myself, 
looking  down  through  the  light  of  a  golden  even- 


372  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

ing  upon  these  quietly  passing  groups,  I  cannot 
find  it  in  rny  heart  to  condemn  them  for  seeking 
on  this  their  sole  day  of  leisure  the  needful  in 
fluences  of  social  enjoyment,  unrestrained  exercise, 
and  fresh  air.  I  cannot  think  any  essential  ser 
vice  to  religion  or  humanity  would  result  from  the 
conversion  of  their  day  of  rest  into  a  Jewish  Sab 
bath,  and  their  consequent  confinement,  like  so 
many  pining  prisoners,  in  close  and  crowded  board 
ing-houses.  Is  not  cheerfulness  a  duty,  a  better 
expression  of  our  gratitude  for  God's  blessings 
than  mere  words  ?  And  even  under  the  old  law 
of  rituals,  what  answer  had  the  Pharisees  to  the 
question,  "  Is  it  not  lawful  to  do  good  on  the  Sab 
bath  day?" 

I  am  naturally  of  a  sober  temperament,  and  am, 
besides,  a  member  of  that  sect  which  Dr.  More  has 
called,  mistakenly  indeed,  "  the  most  melancholy 
of  all ; "  but  I  confess  a  special  dislike  of  disfigured 
faces,  ostentatious  displays  of  piety,  pride  aping 
humility.  Asceticism,  moroseness,  self-torture,  in 
gratitude  in  view  of  down-showering  blessings,  and 
painful  restraint  of  the  better  feelings  of  our  nature 
may  befit  a  Hindoo  fakir,  or  a  Manclan  medicine 
man  with  buffalo  skulls  strung  to  his  lacerated 
muscles  ;  but  they  look  to  me  sadly  out  of  place  in 
a  believer  of  the  glad  evangel  of  the  New  Testa 
ment.  The  life  of  the  divine  Teacher  affords  no 
countenance  to  this  sullen  and  gloomy  saintliness, 
shutting  up  the  heart  against  the  sweet  influences 
of  human  sympathy  and  the  blessed  ministrations 
of  Nature.  To  the  horror  and  clothes-rending 
astonishment  of  blind  Pharisees  He  uttered  the 


FIRST  DAY  IN  LOWELL  373 

significant  truth,  that  "  the  Sabbath  was  made  for 
man,  and  not  man  for  the  Sabbath."  From  the 
close  air  of  crowded  cities,  from  thronged  temples 
and  synagogues,  —  where  priest  and  Levite  kept 
up  a  show  of  worship,  drumming  upon  hollow  cere 
monials  the  more  loudly  for  their  emptiness  of  life, 
as  the  husk  rustles  the  more  when  the  grain  is 
gone,  —  He  led  His  disciples  out  into  the  country 
stillness,  under  clear  Eastern  heavens,  on  the 
breezy  tops  of  mountains,  in  the  shade  of  fruit- 
trees,  by  the  side  of  fountains,  and  through  yellow 
harvest-fields,  enforcing  the  lessons  of  His  divine 
morality  by  comparisons  and  parables  suggested 
by  the  objects  around  Him  or  the  cheerful  inci 
dents  of  social  humanity,  —  the  vineyard,  the  field- 
lily,  the  sparrow  in  the  air,  the  sower  in  the  seed- 
field,  the  feast  and  the  marriage.  Thus  gently, 
thus  sweetly  kind  and  cheerful,  fell  from  His  lips 
the  gospel  of  humanity  ;  love  the  fulfilling  of 
every  law  ;  our  love  for  one  another  measuring  and 
manifesting  our  love  of  Him.  The  baptism  where 
with  He  was  baptized  was  that  of  divine  fulness  in 
the  wants  of  our  humanity;  the  deep  waters  of  our 
sorrows  went  over  Him ;  ineffable  purity  sounding 
for  our  sakes  the  dark  abysm  of  sin ;  yet  how  like 
a  river  of  light  runs  that  serene  and  beautiful  life 
through  the  narratives  of  the  evangelists !  He 
broke  bread  with  the  poor  despised  publican  ;  He 
sat  down  with  the  fishermen  by  the  Sea  of  Galilee  ; 
He  spoke  compassionate  words  to  sin-sick  Magda 
len  ;  He  sanctified  by  His  presence  the  social  en 
joyments  of  home  and  friendship  in  the  family 
of  Bethany  ;  He  laid  His  hand  of  blessing  on  the 


374  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

sunny  brows  of  children ;  He  had  regard  even  to 
the  merely  animal  wants  of  the  multitude  in  the 
wilderness ;  He  frowned  upon  none  of  life's  simple 
and  natural  pleasures.  The  burden  of  His  Gospel 
was  love  ;  and  in  life  and  word  He  taught  evermore 
the  divided  and  scattered  children  of  one  great 
family  that  only  as  they  drew  near  each  other 
could  they  approach  Him  who  was  their  common 
centre;  and  that  while  no  ostentation  of  prayer 
nor  rigid  observance  of  ceremonies  could  elevate 
man  to  heaven,  the  simple  exercise  of  love,  in 
thought  and  action,  could  bring  heaven  down  to 
man.  To  weary  and  restless  spirits  He  taught  the 
great  truth,  that  happiness  consists  in  making 
others  happy.  No  cloister  for  idle  genuflections 
and  bead  counting,  no  hair-cloth  for  the  loins  nor 
scourge  for  the  limbs,  but  works  of  love  and  use 
fulness  under  the  cheerful  sunshine,  making  the 
waste  places  of  humanity  glad  and  causing  the 
heart's  desert  to  blossom.  Why,  then,  should  we 
go  searching  after  the  cast-off  sackcloth  of  the 
Pharisee  ?  Are  we  Jews,  or  Christians  ?  Must 
even  our  gratitude  for  "  glad  tidings  of  great  joy  " 
be  desponding  ?  Must  the  hymn  of  our  thanks 
giving  for  countless  mercies  and  the  unspeakable 
gift  of  His  life  have  evermore  an  undertone  of 
funeral  wailing  ?  What !  shall  we  go  murmuring 
and  lamenting,  looking  coldly  on  one  another,  see 
ing  no  beauty,  nor  light,  nor  gladness  in  this  good 
world,  wherein  we  have  the  glorious  privilege  of 
laboring  in  God's  harvest-field,  with  angels  for  our 
task  companions,  blessing  and  being  blessed  ? 
To  him  who,  neglecting  the  revelations  of  imme- 


FIRST  DAY  IN  LOWELL  375 

diate  duty,  looks  regretfully  behind  and  fearfully 
before  him,  life  may  well  seem  a  solemn  mystery, 
for,  whichever  way  he  turns,  a  wall  of  darkness 
rises  before  him ;  but  down  upon  the  present,  as 
through  a  skylight  between  the  shadows,  falls  a 
clear,  still  radiance,  like  beams  from  an  eye  of 
blessing ;  and,  within  the  circle  of  that  divine  il 
lumination,  beauty  and  goodness,  truth  and  love, 
purity  and  cheerfulness  blend  like  primal  colors 
into  the  clear  harmony  of  light.  The  author  of 
Proverbial  Philosophy  has  a  passage  not  unwor 
thy  of  note  in  this  connection,  when  he  speaks  of 
the  train  which  attends  the  just  in  heaven  :  — 

"Also  in  the  lengthening  troop  see  I  some  clad  in  robes  of  tri 
umph, 

Whose  fair  and  sunny  faces  I  have  known  and  loved  on  earth. 
Welcome,  ye  glorified  Loves,  Graces,  Sciences,  and  Muses, 
That,  like  Sisters  of  Charity,  tended  in  this  world's  hospital; 
Welcome,  for  verily  I  knew  ye  could  not  but  be  children  of  the 

light ; 

Welcome,  chiefly  welcome,  for  I  find  I  have  friends  in  heaven, 
And  some  I  have  scarcely  looked  for ;  as  thou,  light-hearted  Mirth ; 
Thou,  also,  star-robed  Urania  ;  and  thou  with  the  curious  glass, 
That  rejoicest  in  tracking  beauty  where  the  eye  was  too  dull  to 

note  it. 

And  art   thou,  too,  among  the   blessed,  mild,  much-injured   Po 
etry  ? 

That  quickenest  with  light  and  beauty  the  leaden  face  of  matter, 
That  not  unheard,  though  silent,  fillest  earth's  gardens  with  music, 
And  not  unseen,  though  a  spirit,  dost  look  down  upon  us  from  the 
stars." 


THE  LIGHTING  UP. 

"He  spak  to  the  spynnsters  to  spynnen  itoute." 

PIEHS  PLOUGHMAN. 

THIS  evening,  the  20th  of  the  ninth  month,  is 
the  time  fixed  upon  for  lighting  the  mills  for  night- 
labor  ;  and  I  have  just  returned  from  witnessing 
for  the  first  time  the  effect  of  the  new  illumination. 

Passing  over  the  bridge,  nearly  to  the  Dracut 
shore,  I  had  a  fine  view  of  the  long  line  of  mills, 
the  city  beyond,  and  the  broad  sweep  of  the  river 
from  the  falls.  The  light  of  a  tranquil  and  gor 
geous  sunset  was  slowly  fading  from  river  and  sky, 
and  the  shadows  of  the  trees  on  the  Dracut  slopes 
were  blending  in  dusky  indistinctness  with  the  great 
shadow  of  night.  Suddenly  gleams  of  light  broke 
from  the  black  masses  of  masonry  on  the  Lowell 
bank,  at  first  feeble  and  scattered,  flitting  from  win 
dow  to  window,  appearing  and  disappearing,  like 
will-o'-wisps  in  a  forest  or  fireflies  in  a  summer's 
night.  Anon  tier  after  tier  of  windows  became 
radiant,  until  the  whole  vast  wall,  stretching  far  up 
the  river,  from  basement  to  roof,  became  checkered 
with  light  reflected  with  the  starbeams  from  the 
still  water  beneath.  With  a  little  effort  of  fancy, 
one  could  readily  transform  the  huge  mills,  thus 
illuminated,  into  palaces  lighted  up  for  festival  oc 
casions,  and  the  figures  of  the  workers,  passing  to 
and  fro  before  the  windows,  into  forms  of  beauty 
and  fashion,  moving  in  graceful  dances. 


THE  LIGHTING    UP  377 

Alas  !  this  music  of  the  shuttle  and  the  daylong 
dance  to  it  are  not  altogether  of  the  kind  which 
Milton  speaks  of  when  he  invokes  the  "  soft  Ly- 
dian  airs  "  of  voluptuous  leisure.  From  this  time 
henceforward  for  half  a  weary  year,  from  the  bell- 
call  of  morning  twilight  to  half-past  seven  in  the 
evening,  with  brief  intermissions  for  two  hasty 
meals,  the  operatives  will  be  confined  to  their  tasks. 
The  proverbial  facility  of  the  Yankees  in  despatch 
ing  their  dinners  in  the  least  possible  time  seems  to 
have  been  taken  advantage  of  and  reduced  to  a 
system  on  the  Lowell  corporations.  Strange  as  it 
may  seem  to  the  uninitiated,  the  working-men  and 
women  here  contrive  to  repair  to  their  lodgings, 
make  the  necessary  preliminary  ablutions,  devour 
their  beef  and  pudding,  and  hurry  back  to  their 
looms  and  jacks  in  the  brief  space  of  half  an  hour. 
In  this  way  the  working-day  in  Lowell  is  eked  out 
to  an  average  throughout  the  year  of  twelve  and  a 
half  hours.  This  is  a  serious  evil,  demanding  the 
earnest  consideration  of  the  humane  and  philan 
thropic.  Both  classes  —  the  employer  and  the  em 
ployed  —  would  in  the  end  be  greatly  benefited  by 
the  general  adoption  of  the  "  ten-hour  system,"  al 
though  the  one  might  suffer  a  slight  diminution  in 
daily  wages  and  the  other  in  yearly  profits.  Yet  it 
is  difficult  to  see  how  this  most  desirable  change  is 
to  be  effected.  The  stronger  and  healthier  portion 
of  the  operatives  might  themselves  object  to  it  as 
strenuously  as  the  distant  stockholder  who  looks 
only  to  his  semi-annual  dividends.  Health  is  too 
often  a  matter  of  secondary  consideration.  Gain  is 
the  great,  all-absorbing  object.  Very  few,  conipara- 


378  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

tively,  regard  Lowell  as  their  "continuing  city." 
They  look  longingly  back  to  green  valleys  of  Ver 
mont,  to  quiet  farm-houses  on  the  head-waters  of 
the  Connecticut  and  Merrimac,  and  to  old  familiar 
homes  along  the  breezy  seaboard  of  New  England, 
whence  they  have  been  urged  by  the  knowledge 
that  here  they  can  earn  a  larger  amount  of  money 
in  a  given  time  than  in  any  other  place  or  employ 
ment.  They  come  here  for  gain,  not  for  pleasure ; 
for  high  wages,  not  for  the  comforts  that  cluster 
about  home.  Here  are  poor  widows  toiling  to 
educate  their  children;  daughters  hoarding  their 
wages  to  redeem  mortgaged  paternal  homesteads 
or  to  defray  the  expenses  of  sick  and  infirm  par 
ents;  young  betrothed  girls,  about  to  add  their 
savings  to  those  of  their  country  lovers.  Others 
there  are,  of  maturer  age,  lonely  and  poor,  impelled 
hither  by  a  proud  unwillingness  to  test  to  its  extent 
the  charity  of  friends  and  relatives,  and  a  strong 
yearning  for  the  "  glorious  privilege  of  being  inde 
pendent."  All  honor  to  them !  Whatever  may 
have  closed  against  them  the  gates  of  matrimony, 
whether  their  own  obduracy  or  the  faithlessness  or 
indifference  of  others,  instead  of  shutting  them 
selves  up  in  a  nunnery  or  taxing  the  good  nature 
of  their  friends  by  perpetual  demands  for  sympathy 
and  support,  like  weak  vines,  putting  out  their  feel 
ers  in  every  direction  for  something  to  twine  upon, 
is  it  not  better  and  wiser  for  them  to  go  quietly  at 
work,  to  show  that  woman  has  a  self-sustaining 
power;  that  she  is  something  in  and  of  herself; 
that  she,  too,  has  a  part  to  bear  in  life,  and,  in 
common  with  the  self-elected  "  lords  of  creation," 


THE  LIGHTING    UP  379 

has  a  direct  relation  to  absolute  being  ?  To  such 
the  factory  presents  the  opportunity  of  taking  the 
first  and  essential  step  of  securing,  within  a  rea 
sonable  space  of  time,  a  comfortable  competency. 

There  are  undoubtedly  many  evils  connected  with 
the  working  of  these  mills  ;  yet  they  are  partly  com- 
pensated  by  the  fact  that  here,  more  than  in  any 
other  mechanical  employment,  the  labor  of  woman 
is  placed  essentially  upon  an  equality  with  that  of 
man.  Here,  at  least,  one  of  the  many  social  disa 
bilities  under  which  woman  as  a  distinct  individual, 
unconnected  with  the  other  sex,  has  labored  in  all 
tune  is  removed ;  the  work  of  her  hands  is  ad 
equately  rewarded  ;  and  she  goes  to  her  daily  task 
with  the  consciousness  that  she  is  not  "  spending 
her  strength  for  naught." 

The  Lowell  Offering,  which  has  been  for  the  last 
four  years  published  monthly  in  this  city,  consisting 
entirely  of  articles  written  by  females  employed  in 
the  mills,  has  attracted  much  attention  and  obtained 
a  wide  circulation.  This  may  be  in  part  owing  to 
the  novel  circumstances  of  its  publication  ;  but  it 
is  something  more  and  better  than  a  mere  novelty. 
In  its  volumes  may  be  found  sprightly  delineations 
of  home  scenes  and  characters,  highly  wrought  im 
aginative  pieces,  tales  of  genuine  pathos  and  hu 
mor,  and  pleasing  fairy  stories  and  fables.  The 
Offering  originated  in  a  reading  society  of  the  mill 
girls,  which,  under  the  name  of  the  Improvement 
Circle,  was  convened  once  in  a  month.  At  its  meet 
ings,  pieces  written  by  its  members  and  dropped 
secretly  into  a  sort  of  "  lion's  mouth,"  provided  for 
the  purpose  of  insuring  the  authors  from  detection, 


380  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

were  read  for  the  amusement  and  criticism  of  the 
company.  This  circle  is  still  in  existence ;  and  I 
owe  to  my  introduction  to  it  some  of  the  most  pleas 
ant  hours  I  have  passed  in  Lowell. 

The  manner  in  which  the  Offering  has  been  gen 
erally  noticed  in  this  country  has  not,  to  my  think 
ing,  been  altogether  in  accordance  with  good  taste 
or  self-respect.  It  is  hardly  excusable  for  men, 
who,  whatever  may  be  their  present  position,  have, 
in  common  with  all  of  us,  brothers,  sisters,  or  other 
relations  busy  in  workshop  and  dairy,  and  who  have 
scarcely  washed  from  their  own  professional  hands 
the  soil  of  labor,  to  make  very  marked  demonstra 
tions  of  astonishment  at  the  appearance  of  a  mag 
azine  whose  papers  are  written  by  factory  girls.  As 
if  the  compatibility  of  mental  cultivation  with  bod 
ily  labor  and  the  equality  and  brotherhood  of  the 
human  family  were  still  open  questions,  depending 
for  their  decision  very  much  on  the  production  of 
positive  proof  that  essays  may  be  written  and  car 
pets  woven  by  the  same  set  of  fingers  ! 

The  truth  is,  our  democracy  lacks  calmness  and 
solidity,  the  repose  and  self-reliance  which  come  of 
long  habitude  and  settled  conviction.  We  have  not 
yet  learned  to  wear  its  simple  truths  with  the  grace 
ful  ease  and  quiet  air  of  unsolicitous  assurance  with 
which  the  titled  European  does  his  social  fictions. 
As  a  people,  we  do  not  feel  and  live  out  our  great 
Declaration.  "We  lack  faith  in  man,  —  confidence 
in  simple  humanity,  apart  from  its  environments. 

"  The  age  shows,  to  my  thinking1,  more  infidels  to  Adam, 
Than  directly,  by  profession,  simple  infidels  to  God."  l 

1  Elizabeth  B.  Browning.  ^ 


TAKING  COMFORT. 

FOR  the  last  few  days  the  fine  weather  has  lured 
me  away  from  books  and  papers  and  the  close  air 
of  dwellings  into  the  open  fields,  and  under  the 
soft,  warm  sunshine,  and  the  softer  light  of  a  full 
moon.  .The  loveliest  season  of  the  whole  year  — 
that  transient  but  delightful  interval  between  the 
storms  of  the  "  wild  equinox,  with  all  their  wet," 
and  the  dark,  short,  dismal  days  which  precede  the 
rigor  of  winter  —  is  now  with  us.  The  sun  rises 
through  a  soft  and  hazy  atmosphere ;  the  light 
mist-clouds  melt  gradually  away  before  him  ;  and 
his  noontide  light  rests  warm  and  clear  on  still 
woods,  tranquil  waters,  and  grasses  green  with  the 
late  autumnal  rains.  The  rough-wooded  slopes  of 
Dracut,  overlooking  the  falls  of  the  river ;  Fort 
Hill,  across  the  Concord,  where  the  red  man  made 
his  last  stand,  and  where  may  still  be  seen  the 
trench  which  he  dug  around  his  rude  fortress ;  the 
beautiful  woodlands  on  the  Lowell  and  Tewksbury 
shores  of  the  Concord  ;  the  cemetery  ;  the  Patucket 
Falls,  —  all  within  the  reach  of  a  moderate  walk, 
—  offer  at  this  season  their  latest  and  loveliest 
attractions. 

One  fine  morning,  not  long  ago,  I  strolled  down 
the  Merrimac,  on  the  Tewksbury  shore.  I  know 
of  no  walk  in  the  vicinity  of  Lowell  so  inviting  as 
that  along  the  margin  of  the  river  for  nearly  a  mile 


382  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

from  the  village  of  Belvidere.  The  path  winds, 
green  and  flower-skirted,  among  beeches  and  oaks, 
through  whose  boughs  you  catch  glimpses  of  waters 
sparkling  and  dashing  below.  Kocks,  huge  and 
picturesque,  jut  out  into  the  stream,  affording 
beautiful  views  of  the  river  and  the  distant  city. 

Half  fatigued  with  my  walk,  I  threw  myself 
down  upon  the  rocky  slope  of  the  bank,  where  the 
panorama  of  earth,  sky,  and  water  lay  clear  and 
distinct  about  me.  Far  above,  silent  and  dim  as  a 
picture,  was  the  city,  with  its  huge  mill-masonry, 
confused  chimney-tops,  and  church-spires  ;  nearer 
rose  the  height  of  Belvidere,  with  its  deserted  burial- 
place  and  neglected  gravestones  sharply  denned 
on  its  bleak,  bare  summit  against  the  sky ;  before 
me  the  river  went  dashing  down  its  rugged  channel, 
sending  up  its  everlasting  murmur ;  above  me  the 
birch-tree  hung  its  tassels ;  and  the  last  wild  flowers 
of  autumn  profusely  fringed  the  rocky  rim  of  the 
water.  Right  opposite,  the  Dracut  woods  stretched 
upwards  from  the  shore,  beautiful  with  the  hues  of 
frost,  glowing  with  tints  richer  and  deeper  than 
those  which  Claude  or  Poussin  mingled,  as  if  the 
rainbows  of  a  summer  shower  had  fallen  among 
them.  At  a  little  distance  to  the  right  a  group  of 
cattle  stood  mid-leg  deep  in  the  river ;  and  a  troop 
of  children,  bright-eyed  and  mirthful,  were  casting 
pebbles  at  them  from  a  projecting  shelf  of  rock. 
Over  all  a  warm  but  softened  sunshine  melted  down 
from  a  slumberous  autumnal  sky. 

My  revery  was  disagreeably  broken.  A  low, 
grunting  sound,  half  bestial,  half  human,  attracted 
my  attention.  I  was  not  alone.  Close  beside  me, 


TAKING   COMFORT  383 

half  hidden  by  a  tuft  of  bushes,  lay  a  human  being, 
stretched  out  at  full  length,  with  his  face  literally 
rooted  into  the  gravel.  A  little  boy,  five  or  six 
years  of  age,  clean  and  healthful,  with  his  fair 
brown  locks  and  blue  eyes,  stood  on  the  bank 
above,  gazing  down  upon  him  with  an  expression 
of  childhood's  simple  and  unaffected  pity. 

"  What  ails  you  ? "  asked  the  boy  at  length. 
"  What  makes  you  lie  there  ?  " 

The  prostrate  groveller  struggled  half-way  up, 
exhibiting  the  bloated  and  filthy  countenance  of 
a  drunkard.  He  made  two  or  three  efforts  to  get 
upon  his  feet,  lost  his  balance,  and  tumbled  for 
ward  upon  his  face. 

"  What  are  you  doing  there  ?  "  inquired  the  boy. 

"I'm  taking  comfort,"  he  muttered,  with  his 
mouth  in  the  dirt. 

Taking  his  comfort!  There  he  lay,  —  squalid 
and  loathsome  under  the  bright  heaven,  —  an  im- 
bruted  man.  The  holy  harmonies  of  Nature,  the 
sounds  of  gushing  waters,  the  rustle  of  the  leaves 
above  him,  the  wild  flowers,  the  frost-bloom  of  the 
woods,  —  what  were  they  to  him  ?  Insensible,  deaf, 
and  blind,  in  the  stupor  of  a  living  death,  he  lay 
there,  literally  realizing  that  most  bitterly  signifi 
cant  Eastern  malediction,  "  May  you  eat  dirt !  " 

In  contrasting  the  exceeding  beauty  and  harmony 
of  inanimate  Nature  with  the  human  degradation 
and  deformitjr  before  me,  I  felt,  as  I  confess  I  had 
never  done  before,  the  truth  of  a  remark  of  a  rare 
thinker,  that  "  Nature  is  loved  as  the  city  of  God, 
although,  or  rather  because,  it  has  no  citizen.  The 
beauty  of  Nature  must  ever  be  universal  and  mock- 


384  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

ing  until  the  landscape  has  human  figures  as  good 
as  itself.  Man  is  fallen  ;  Nature  is  erect."  1  As  I 
turned  once  more  to  the  calm  blue  sky,  the  hazy 
autumnal  hills,  and  the  slumberous  water,  dream- 
tinted  by  the  foliage  of  its  shores,  it  seemed  as  if  a 
shadow  of  shame  and  sorrow  fell  over  the  pleasant 
picture  ;  and  even  the  west  wind  which  stirred  the 
tree-tops  above  me  had  a  mournful  murmur,  as  if 
Nature  felt  the  desecration  of  her  sanctities  and 
the  discord  of  sin  and  folly  which  marred  her  sweet 
harmonies. 

God  bless  the  temperance  movement !  And  He 
will  bless  it ;  for  it  is  His  work.  It  is  one  of  the 
great  miracles  of  our  times.  Not  Father  Mathew 
in  Ireland,  nor  Hawkins  and  his  little  band  in  Bal 
timore,  but  He  whose  care  is  over  all  the  works  of 
His  hand,  and  who  in  His  divine  love  and  compas 
sion  "  turneth  the  hearts  of  men  as  the  rivers  of 
waters  are  turned,"  hath  done  it.  To  Him  be  all 
the  glory. 

1  Emerson. 


CHAKMS  AND  FAIKY  FAITH. 

' '  Up  the  airy  mountain, 

Down  the  rushy  glen, 
We  dare  n't  go  a-hunting 

For  fear  of  little  men. 
Wee  folk,  good  folk, 

Trooping  all  together ; 
Green  jacket,  red  cap, 
Gray  cock's  feather." 

ALLINGHAM. 

IT  was  from  a  profound  knowledge  of  human 
nature  that  Lord  Bacon,  in  discoursing  upon  truth, 
remarked  that  a  mixture  of  a  lie  doth  ever  add 
pleasure.  "  Doth  any  man  doubt,"  he  asks,  "  that 
if  there  were  taken  out  of  men's  minds  vain 
opinions,  flattering  hopes,  false  valuations,  and  im 
aginations,  but  it  would  leave  the  minds  of  a  number 
of  men  poor,  shrunken  things,  full  of  melancholy 
and  indisposition,  and  unpleasing  to  themselves  ?  " 
This  admitted  tendency  of  our  nature,  this  love 
of  the  pleasing  intoxication  of  unveracity,  exag 
geration,  and  imagination,  may  perhaps  account 
for  the  high  relish  which  children  and  nations 
yet  in  the  childhood  of  civilization  find  in  fabulous 
legends  and  tales  of  wonder.  The  Arab  at  the 
present  day  listens  with  eager  interest  to  the  same 
tales  of  genii  and  afrits,  sorcerers  and  enchanted 
princesses,  which  delighted  his  ancestors  in  the 
times  of  Haroun  al  Raschid.  The  gentle,  church- 


386  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

going  Icelander  of  our  time  beguiles  the  long  night 
of  his  winter  with  the  very  sagas  and  runes  which 
thrilled  with  not  unpleasing  horror  the  hearts 
of  the  old  Norse  sea-robbers.  What  child,  al 
though  Anglo-Saxon  born,  escapes  a  temporary 
sojourn  in  fairy-land  ?  Who  of  us  does  not  remem 
ber  the  intense  satisfaction  of  throwing  aside  primer 
and  spelling-book  for  stolen  ethnographical  studies 
of  dwarfs  and  giants  ?  Even  in  our  own  country 
and  time  old  superstitions  and  credulities  still 
cling  to  life  with  feline  tenacity.  Here  and  there, 
ofteiiest  in  our  fixed,  valley-sheltered,  inland  vil 
lages,  —  slumberous  Rip  Van  Winkles,  unprogres- 
sive  and  seldom  visited,  —  may  be  found  the  same 
old  beliefs  in  omens,  warnings,  witchcraft,  and 
supernatural  charms  which  our  ancestors  brought 
with  them  two  centuries  ago  from  Europe. 

The  practice  of  charms,  or  what  is  popularly 
called  "  trying  projects,"  is  still,  to  some  extent, 
continued  in  New  England.  The  inimitable  de 
scription  which  Burns  gives  of  similar  practices  in 
his  Halloween  may  not  in  all  respects  apply  to  these 
domestic  conjurations ;  but  the  following  needs  only 
the  substitution  of  apple-seeds  for  nuts :  — 

"  The  auld  glide  wife's  wheel-hoordet  nits 

Are  round  an'  round  divided  ; 
An'  raony  lads  and  lassies'  fates 
Are  there  that  night  decided. 
Some  kindle  couthie  side  by  side 

An'  burn  thegither  trimly  ; 
Some  start  awa  wi'  saucy  pride 
And  jump  out  owre  the  chimlie." 

One  of  the  most  common  of  these  "  projects  "  is 
as  follows :  A  young  woman  goes  down  into  the 


CHARMS  AND  FAIRY  FAITH          387 

cellar,  or  into  a  dark  room,  with  a  mirror  in  her 
hand,  and  looking  in  it,  sees  the  face  of  her  future 
husband  peering  at  her  through  the  darkness,  — 
the  mirror  being,  for  the  time,  as  potent  as  the 
famous  Cambuscan  glass  of  which  Chaucer  dis 
courses.  A  neighbor  of  mine,  in  speaking  of  this 
conjuration,  adduces  a  case  in  point.  One  of  her 
schoolmates  made  the  experiment  and  saw  the  face 
of  a  strange  man  in  the  glass  ;  and  many  years 
afterwards  she  saw  the  very  man  pass  her  father's 
door.  He  proved  to  be  an  English  emigrant  just 
landed,  and  in  due  time  became  her  husband. 
Burns  alludes  to  something  like  the  spell  above 
described :  — 

"  Wee  Jenny  to  her  grannie  says, 

'  Will  ye  go  wi'  me,  grannie, 
To  eat  an  apple  at  the  glass 

I  got  from  Uncle  Johnnie  ?  ' 
She  fuff't  her  pipe  wi'  sic  a  lunt, 

In  wrath  she  was  so  vaporin', 
She  noticed  na  an'  azle  brunt 

Her  bran  new  worset  apron. 

"  Ye  little  skelpan-limmer's  face, 

How  dare  ye  try  sic  sportin', 
An'  seek  the  foul  thief  ony  place 

For  him  to  try  your  fortune  ? 
Nae  doubt  but  ye  may  get  a  sight ; 

Great  cause  ye  hae  to  fear  it ; 
For  mony  a  one  has  gotten  a  fright, 

An'  lived  and  died  deleerit." 

It  is  not  to  be  denied,  and  for  truth's  sake  not 
to  be  regretted,  that  this  amusing  juvenile  glam- 
mary  has  seen  its  best  days  in  New  England.  The 
schoolmaster  has  been  abroad  to  some  purpose. 
Not  without  results  have  our  lyceum  lecturers  and 


388  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

travels  of  Peter  Parley  brought  everything  in 
heaven  above  and  in  the  earth  below  to  the  level 
of  childhood's  capacities.  In  our  cities  and  large 
towns  children  nowadays  pass  through  the  open 
ing  acts  of  life's  marvellous  drama  with  as  little 
manifestation  of  wonder  and  surprise  as  the  Indian 
does  through  the  streets  of  a  civilized  city  which 
he  has  entered  for  the  first  time.  Yet  Nature, 
sooner  or  later,  vindicates  her  mysteries ;  voices 
from  the  unseen  penetrate  the  din  of  civilization. 
The  child  philosopher  and  materialist  often  be 
comes  the  visionary  of  riper  years,  running  into 
illuminism,  magnetism,  and  transcendentalism, 
with  its  inspired  priests  and  priestesses,  its  revela 
tions  and  oracular  responses. 

But  in  many  a  green  valley  of  rural  New  Eng 
land  there  are  children  yet ;  boys  and  girls  are  still 
to  be  found  not  quite  overtaken  by  the  march  of 
mind.  There,  too,  are  huskings,  and  apple-bees, 
and  quilting  parties,  and  huge  old-fashioned  fire 
places  piled  with  crackling  walnut,  flinging  its  rosy 
light  over  happy  countenances  of  youth  and  scarcely 
less  happy  age.  If  it  be  true  that,  according  to 
Cornelius  Agrippa,  "  a  wood  fire  doth  drive  away 
dark  spirits,"  it  is,  nevertheless,  also  true  that 
around  it  the  simple  superstitions  of  our  ancestors 
still  love  to  linger;  and  there  the  half -sportful, 
half-serious  charms  of  which  I  have  spoken  are 
oftenest  resorted  to.  It  would  be  altogether  out 
of  place  to  think  of  them  by  our  black,  unsightly 
stoves,  or  in  the  dull  and  dark  monotony  of  our 
furnace-heated  rooms.  Within  the  circle  of  the 
light  of  the  open  fire  safely  might  the  young  con- 


CHARMS  AND  FAIRY  FAITH  389 

jurers  question  destiny ;  for  none  but  kindly  and 
gentle  messengers  from  wonderland  could  venture 
among  them.  And  who  of  us,  looking  back  to 
those  long  autumnal  evenings  of  childhood  when 
the  glow  of  the  kitchen-fire  rested  on  the  beloved 
faces  of  home,  does  not  feel  that  there  is  truth  and 
beauty  in  what  the  quaint  old  author  just  quoted 
affirms?  "  As  the  spirits  of  darkness  grow  stronger 
in  the  dark,  so  good  spirits,  which  are  angels  of 
light,  are  multiplied  and  strengthened,  not  only  by 
the  divine  light  of  the  sun  and  stars,  but  also  by 
the  light  of  our  cemmon  wood-fires."  Even  Lord 
Bacon,  in  condemning  the  superstitious  beliefs  of 
his  day,  admits  that  they  might  serve  for  winter 
talk  around  the  fireside. 

Fairy  faith  is,  we  may  safely  say,  now  dead  every 
where, —  buried,  indeed, — for  the  mad  painter 
Blake  saw  the  funeral  of  the  last  of  the  little  peo 
ple,  and  an  irreverent  English  bishop  has  sung  their 
requiem.  It  never  had  much  hold  upon  the  Yan 
kee  mind,  our  superstitions  being  mostly  of  a  sterner 
and  less  poetical  kind.  The  Irish  Presbyterians 
who  settled  in  New  Hampshire  about  the  year  1720 
brought  indeed  with  them,  among  other  strange 
matters,  potatoes  and  fairies ;  but  while  the  former 
took  root  and  flourished  among  us,  the  latter  died 
out,  after  lingering  a  few  years  in  a  very  melan 
choly  and  disconsolate  way,  looking  regretfully 
back  to  their  green  turf  dances,  moonlight  revels, 
and  cheerful  nestling  around  the  shealing  fires  of 
Ireland.  The  last  that  has  been  heard  of  them 
was  some  forty  or  fifty  years  ago  in  a  tavern  house 
in  S ,  New  Hampshire.  The  landlord  was  a 


390  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

spiteful  little  man,  whose  sour,  pinched  look  was  a 
standing  libel  upon  the  state  of  his  larder.  He 
made  his  house  so  uncomfortable  by  his  moroseness 
that  travellers  even  at  nightfall  pushed  by  his  door 
and  drove  to  the  next  town.  Teamsters  and  dro 
vers,  who  in  those  days  were  apt  to  be  very  thirsty, 
learned,  even  before  temperance  societies  were 
thought  of,  to  practice  total  abstinence  on  that 
road,  and  cracked  their  whips  and  goaded  on  their 
teams  in  full  view  of  a  most  tempting  array  of  bot 
tles  and  glasses,  from  behind  which  the  surly  little 
landlord  glared  out  upon  them  with  a  look  which 
seemed  expressive  of  all  sorts  of  evil  wishes,  broken 
legs,  overturned  carriages,  spavined  horses,  sprained 
oxen,  unsavory  poultry,  damaged  butter,  and  bad 
markets.  And  if,  as  a  matter  of  necessity,  to 
"  keep  the  cold  out  of  his  stomach,"  occasionally  a 
wayfarer  stopped  his  team  and  ventured  to  call  for 
"  somethin'  warmin',"  the  testy  publican  stirred  up 
the  beverage  in  such  a  spiteful  way,  that,  on  re 
ceiving  it  foaming  from  his  hand,  the  poor  cus 
tomer  was  half  afraid  to  open  his  mouth,  lest  the 
red-hot  flip  iron  should  be  plunged  down  his  gullet. 
As  a  matter  of  course,  poverty  came  upon  the 
house  and  its  tenants  like  an  armed  man.  Loose 
clapboards  rattled  in  the  wind  ;  rags  fluttered  from 
the  broken  windows ;  within  doors  were  tattered 
children  and  scanty  fare.  The  landlord's  wife  was 
a  stout,  buxom  woman,  of  Irish  lineage,  and,  what 
with  scolding  her  husband  and  liberally  patroniz 
ing  his  bar  in  his  absence,  managed  to  keep,  as 
she  said,  her  "own  heart  whole,"  although  the 
same  could  scarcely  be  said  of  her  children's  trou- 


CHARMS  AND  FAIRY  FAITH  391 

sers  and  her  own  frock  of  homespun.  She  confi 
dently  predicted  that  "  a  betther  day  was  coming," 
being,  in  fact,  the  only  thing  hopeful  about  the 
premises.  And  it  did  come,  sure  enough.  Not 
only  all  the  regular  travellers  on  the  road  made  a 
point  of  stopping  at  the  tavern,  but  guests  from  all 
the  adjacent  towns  filled  its  long-deserted  rooms,  — 
the  secret  of  which  was,  that  it  had  somehow  got 
abroad  that  a  company  of  fairies  had  taken  up 
their  abode  in  the  hostelry  and  daily  held  conver 
sation  with  each  other  in  the  capacious  parlor.  I 
have  heard  those  who  at  the  time  visited  the  tav 
ern  say  that  it  was  literally  thronged  for  several 
weeks.  Small,  squeaking  voices  spoke  in  a  sort  of 
Yankee-Irish  dialect,  in  the  haunted  room,  to  the 
astonishment  and  admiration  of  hundreds.  The 
inn,  of  course,  was  blessed  by  this  fairy  visitation ; 
the  clapboards  ceased  their  racket,  clear  panes  took 
the  place  of  rags  in  the  sashes,  and  the  little  till 
under  the  bar  grew  daily  heavy  with  coin.  The 
magical  influence  extended  even  farther ;  for  it 
was  observable  that  the  landlord  wore  a  good- 
natured  face,  and  that  the  landlady's  visits  to  the 
gin-bottle  were  less  and  less  frequent.  But  the 
thing  could  not,  in  the  nature  of  the  case,  continue 
long.  It  was  too  late  in  the  day  and  on  the  wrong 
side  of  the  water.  As  the  novelty  wore  off,  peo 
ple  began  to  doubt  and  reason  about  it.  Had  the 
place  been  traversed  by  a  ghost  or  disturbed  by  a 
witch  they  could  have  acquiesced  in  it  very  quietly ; 
but  this  outlandish  belief  in  fairies  was  altogether 
an  overtask  for  Yankee  credulity.  As  might  have 
been  expected,  the  little  strangers,  unable  to 


392  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

breathe  in  an  atmosphere  of  doubt  and  suspicion, 
soon  took  their  leave,  shaking  off  the  dust  of  their 
elfin  feet  as  a  testimony  against  an  unbelieving 
generation.  It  was,  indeed,  said  that  certain  rude 
fellows  from  the  Bay  State  pulled  away  a  board 
from  the  ceiling  and  disclosed  to  view  the  fairies 
in  the  shape  of  the  landlady's  three  slatternly 
daughters.  But  the  reader  who  has  any  degree  of 
that  charity  which  thinks  no  evil  will  rather  credit 
the  statement  of  the  fairies  themselves,  as  reported 
by  the  mistress  of  the  house,  "  that  they  were  tired 
of  the  new  country,  and  had  no  pace  of  their  lives 
among  the  Yankees,  and  were  going  back  to  Ould 
Ireland." 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that  the  Indians  had  some 
notion  of  a  race  of  beings  corresponding  in  many 
respects  to  the  English  fairies.  Schoolcraft  de 
scribes  them  as  small  creatures  in  human  shape, 
inhabiting  rocks,  crags,  and  romantic  dells,  and 
delighting  especially  in  points  of  land  jutting  into 
lakes  and  rivers  and  which  were  covered  with  pine- 
trees.  They  were  called  Puckweedjinees,  —  little 
vanishers. 

In  a  poetical  point  of  view  it  is  to  be  regretted 
that  our  ancestors  did  not  think  it  worth  their 
while  to  hand  down  to  us  more  of  the  simple  and 
beautiful  traditions  and  beliefs  of  the  "heathen 
round  about  "  them.  Some  hints  of  them  we  glean 
from  the  writings  of  the  missionary  Mayhew  and 
the  curious  little  book  of  Eoger  Williams.  Espe 
cially  would  one  like  to  know  more  of  that  domes 
tic  demon,  Wetuomanit,  who  presided  over  house 
hold  affairs,  assisted  the  young  squaw  in  her  first 


CHARMS  AND  FAIRY  FAITH          393 

essay  at  wigwam-keeping,  gave  timely  note  of  dan 
ger,  and  kept  evil  spirits  at  a  distance,  — a  kind  of 
new-world  brownie,  gentle  and  useful. 

Very  suggestive,  too,  is  the  story  of  Pumoolah, 
-—  a  mighty  spirit,  whose  home  is  on  the  great 
Katahdin  Mountain,  sitting  there  with  his  earthly 
bride  (a  beautiful  daughter  of  the  Penobscots 
transformed  into  an  immortal  by  her  love),  in 
serenest  sunshine,  above  the  storm  which  crouches 
and  growls  at  his  feet.  None  but  the  perfectly 
pure  and  good  can  reach  his  abode.  Many  have 
from  time  to  time  attempted  it  in  vain  ;  some, 
after  almost  reaching  the  summit,  have  been  driven 
back  by  thunderbolts  or  sleety  whirlwinds. 

Not  far  from  my  place  of  residence  are  the  ruins 
of  a  mill,  in  a  narrow  ravine  fringed  with  trees. 
Some  forty  years  ago  the  mill  was  supposed  to  be 
haunted ;  and  horse-shoes,  in  consequence,  were 
nailed  over  its  doors.  One  worthy  man,  whose 
business  lay  beyond  the  mill,  was  afraid  to  pass  it 
alone ;  and  his  wife,  who  was  less  fearful  of  super 
natural  annoyance,  used  to  accompany  him.  The 
little  old  white-coated  miller,  who  there  ground 
corn  and  wheat  for  his  neighbors,  whenever  he 
made  a  particularly  early  visit  to  his  mill,  used  to 
hear  it  in  full  operation,  —  the  water-wheel  dash 
ing  bravely,  and  the  old  rickety  building  clattering 
to  the  jar  of  the  stones.  Yet  the  moment  his  hand 
touched  the  latch  or  his  foot  the  threshold  all  was 
hushed  save  the  melancholy  drip  of  water  from  the 
dam  or  the  low  gurgle  of  the  small  stream  eddy 
ing  amidst  willow  roots  and  mossy  stones  in  the 
ravine  below. 


394  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

This  haunted  mill  has  always  reminded  me  of 
that  most  beautiful  of  Scottish  ballads,  the  Song  of 
the  Elfin  Miller,  in  which  fairies  are  represented 
as  grinding  the  poor  man's  grist  without  toll :  — 

"  Full  merrily  rings  the  mill-stone  round  ; 

Full  merrily  rings  the  wheel ; 
Full  merrily  gushes  out  the  grist ; 
Come,  taste  my  fragrant  meal. 
The  miller  he  's  a  warldly  man, 

And  maun  hae  double  fee  ; 
So  draw  the  sluice  in  the  churl's  dam 
And  let  the  stream  gae  free  !  ' ' 

Brainerd,  who  truly  deserves  the  name  of  an 
American  poet,  has  left  behind  him  a  ballad  on 
the  Indian  legend  of  the  black  fox  which  haunted 
Salmon  Kiver,  a  tributary  of  the  Connecticut.  Its 
wild  and  picturesque  beauty  causes  us  to  regret 
that  more  of  the  still  lingering  traditions  of  the 
red  men  have  not  been  made  the  themes  of  his 
verse :  — 

THE  BLACK  FOX. 

"  How  cold,  how  beautiful,  how  bright 

The  cloudless  heaven  above  us  shines ! 
But  't  is  a  howling  winter's  night ; 
'T  would  freeze  the  very  forest  pines. 

"  The  winds  are  up  while  mortals  sleep  ; 

The  stars  look  forth  while  eyes  are  shut; 
The  bolted  snow  lies  drifted  deep 
Around  our  poor  and  lonely  hut. 

"With  silent  step  and  listening  ear, 

With  bow  and  arrow,  dog  and  gun, 
We  '11  mark  his  track,  —  his  prowl  we  hear : 
Now  is  our  time  !     Come  on !  come  on ! 


CHARMS  AND  FAIRY  FAITH  395 

"O'er  many  a  fence,  through  many  a  wood, 

Following-  the  dog's  bewildered  scent, 
In  anxious  haste  and  earnest  mood, 
The  white  man  and  the  Indian  went. 

"  The  gun  is  cocked  ;  the  bow  is  bent ; 
The  dog  stands  with  uplifted  paw ; 
And  ball  and  arrow  both  are  sent, 
Aimed  at  the  prowler's  very  jaw. 

"  The  ball  to  kill  that  fox  is  run 

Not  in  a  mould  by  mortals  made ; 
The  arrow  which  that  fox  should  shun 
Was  never  shaped  from  earthly  reed. 

"  The  Indian  Druids  of  the  wood 

Know  where  the  fatal  arrows  grow  ; 
They  spring  not  by  the  summer  flood  ; 

They  pierce  not  through  the  winter' ssno\r. 

44  Why  cowers  the  dog,  whose  snuffing  nose 

Was  never  once  deceived  till  now  ? 
And  why  amidst  the  chilling  snows 
Does  either  hunter  wipe  his  brow  ? 

"  For  once  they  see  his  fearful  den  ; 

'T  is  a  dark  cloud  that  slowly  moves 
By  night  around  the  homes  of  men, 
By  day  along  the  stream  it  loves. 

41  Again  the  dog  is  on  the  track, 

The  hunters  chase  o'er  dale  and  hill ; 
They  may  not,  though  they  would,  look  back; 
They  must  go  forward,  forward  still. 

"  Onward  they  go,  and  never  turn, 

Amidst  a  night  which  knows  no  day ; 
For  nevermore  shall  morning  sun 
Light  them  upon  their  endless  way. 

'*  The  hut  is  desolate  ;  and  there 
The  famished  dog  alone  returns ; 


396  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

On  the  cold  steps  he  makes  his  lair  ; 
By  the  shut  door  he  lays  his  bones. 

"  Now  the  tired  sportsman  leans  his  gun 

Against  the  ruins  on  its  site, 
And  ponders  on  the  hunting  done 
By  the  lost  wanderers  of  the  night. 

"  And  there  the  little  country  girls 

Will  stop  to  whisper,  listen,  and  look, 

And  tell,  while  dressing  their  sunny  curls, 

Of  the  Black  Fox  of  Salmon  Brook." 

The  same  writer  has  happily  versified  a  pleasant 
superstition  of  the  valley  of  the  Connecticut.  It 
is  supposed  that  shad  are  led  from  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico  to  the  Connecticut  by  a  kind  of  Yankee 
bogle  in  the  shape  of  a  bird. 


THE  SHAD  SPIRIT. 

"  Now  drop  the  bolt,  and  securely  nail 

The  horse-shoe  over  the  door  ; 
'T  is  a  wise  precaution  ;  and,  if  it  should  fail, 
It  never  failed  before. 

"  Know  ye  the  shepherd  that  gathers  his  flock 

Where  the  gales  of  the  equinox  blow 
From  each  unknown  reef  and  sunken  rock 
In  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  — 

"While  the  monsoons  growl,  and  the  trade-winds  bark, 

And  the  watch-dogs  of  the  surge 
Pursue  through  the  wild  waves  the  ravenous  shark 
That  prowls  around  their  charge  ? 

"To  fair  Connecticut's  northernmost  source, 

O'er  sand-bars,  rapids,  and  falls, 
The  Shad  Spirit  holds  his  onward  course 
With  the  flocks  which  his  whistle  calls. 


CHARMS  AND  FAIRY  FAITH  397 

u  Oh,  how  shall  he  know  where  he  went  before  ? 

Will  he  wander  around  forever  ? 
The  last  year's  shad  heads  shall  shine  on  the  shore, 
To  light  him  up  the  river. 

"And  well  can  he  tell  the  very  time 

To  undertake  his  task : 

When  the  pork-barrel 's  low  he  sits  on  the  chine 
And  drums  on  the  empty  cask. 

"  The  wind  is  light,  and  the  wave  is  white 

With  the  fleece  of  the  flock  that 's  near ; 
Like  the  breath  of  the  breeze  he  comes  over  the  seas 
And  faithfully  leads  them  here. 

"  And  now  he  's  passed  the  bolted  door 
Where  the  rusted  horse-shoe  clings  ; 
So  carry  the  nets  to  the  nearest  shore, 
And  take  what  the  Shad  Spirit  brings." 

The  comparatively  innocent  nature  and  simple 
poetic  beauty  of  this  class  of  superstitions  have 
doubtless  often  induced  the  moralist  to  hesitate  in 
exposing  their  absurdity,  and,  like  Burns  in  view 
of  his  national  thistle,  to 

"  Turn  the  weeding  hook  aside 
And  spare  the  symbol  dear." 

But  the  age  has  fairly  outgrown  them,  and  they 
are  falling  away  by  a  natural  process  of  exfolia 
tion.  The  wonderland  of  childhood  must  hence 
forth  be  sought  within  the  domains  of  truth.  The 
strange  facts  of  natural  history,  and  the  sweet  mys 
teries  of  flowers  and  forests,  and  hills  and  waters, 
will  profitably  take  the  place  of  the  fairy  lore  of 
the  past,  and  poetry  and  romance  still  hold  their 
accustomed  seats  in  the  circle  of  home,  without 
bringing  with  them  the  evil  spirits  of  credulity  and 


398  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

untruth.  Truth  should  be  the  first  lesson  of  the 
child  and  the  last  aspiration  of  manhood ;  for  it 
has  been  well  said  that  the  inquiry  of  truth,  which 
is  the  lovemaking  of  it,  the  knowledge  of  truth, 
which  is  the  presence  of  it,  and  the  belief  of  truth, 
which  is  the  enjoying  of  it,  is  the  sovereign  good  of 
human  nature. 


MAGICIANS  AND  WITCH  FOLK. 

FASCINATION,  saith  Henry  Cornelius  Agrippa,  in 
the  fiftieth  chapter  of  his  first  book  on  Occult  Phi 
losophy,  "is  a  binding  which  comes  of  the  spirit 
of  the  witch  through  the  eyes  of  him  that  is  be 
witched,  entering  to  his  heart;  for  the  eye  being 
opened  and  intent  upon  any  one,  with  a  strong  im 
agination  doth  dart  its  beams,  which  are  the  vehic- 
ulum  of  the  spirit,  into  the  eyes  of  him  that  is  op 
posite  to  her  ;  which  tender  spirit  strikes  his  eyes, 
stirs  up  and  wounds  his  heart,  and  infects  his  spirit. 
Whence  Apuleius  saith,  '  Thy  eyes,  sliding  down 
through  my  eyes  into  my  inmost  heart,  stirreth  up 
a  most  vehement  burning.'  And  when  eyes  are  re 
ciprocally  intent  upon  each  other,  and  when  rays 
are  joined  to  rays,  and  lights  to  lights,  then  the 
spirit  of  the  one  is  joined  to  that  of  the  other  ;  so 
are  strong  ligations  made  and  vehement  loves  in 
flamed."  Taking  this  definition  of  witchcraft,  we 
sadly  fear  it  is  still  practised  to  a  very  great  extent 
among  us.  The  best  we  can  say  of  it  is,  that  the 
business  seems  latterly  to  have  fallen  into  younger 
hands ;  its  victims  do  not  appear  to  regard  them 
selves  as  especial  objects  of  compassion  ;  and  neither 
church  nor  state  seems  inclined  to  interfere  with  it. 

As  might  be  expected  in  a  shrewd  community 
like  ours,  attempts  are  not  unfrequently  made  to 
speculate  in  the  supernatural,  —  to  "  make  gain  of 


400  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

sooth-saying."  In  the  autumn  of  last  year  a  "  wise 
woman  "  dreamed,  or  somnambulized,  that  a  large 
sum  of  money,  in  gold  and  silver  coin,  lay  buried 
in  the  centre  of  the  great  swamp  in  Poplin,  New 
Hampshire ;  whereupon  an  immediate  search  was 
made  for  the  precious  metal.  Under  the  bleak  sky 
of  November,  in  biting  frost  and  sleet  rain,  some 
twenty  or  more  grown  men,  graduates  of  our  com 
mon  schools,  and  liable,  every  mother's  son  of  them, 
to  be  made  deacons,  squires,  and  general  court 
members,  and  such  other  drill  officers  as  may 
be  requisite  in  the  march  of  mind,  might  be  seen 
delving  in  grim  earnest,  breaking  the  frozen  earth, 
uprooting  swamp-maples  and  hemlocks,  and  wak 
ing,  with  sledge  and  crowbar,  unwonted  echoes  in  a 
solitude  which  had  heretofore  only  answered  to  the 
woodman's  axe  or  the  scream  of  the  wild  fowl. 
The  snows  of  December  put  an  end  to  their  labors  ; 
but  the  yawning  excavation  still  remains,  a  silent 
but  somewhat  expressive  commentary  upon  the  age 
of  progress. 

Still  later,  in  one  of  our  Atlantic  cities,  an  at 
tempt  was  made,  partially  at  least,  successful,  to 
form  a  company  for  the  purpose  of  digging  for 
money  in  one  of  the  desolate  sand-keys  of  the  West 
Indies.  It  appears  that  some  mesmerized  "  sub 
ject,"  in  the  course  of  one  of  those  somnambulic 
voyages  of  discovery  in  which  the  traveller,  like 
Satan  in  chaos,  — 

"  O'er  bog-,  o'er  steep,  through  straight,  rough,  dense,  or  rare, 
With  head,  hands,  wings,  or  feet,  pursues  his  way, 
And  swims,  or  sinks,  or  wades,  or  creeps,  or  flies," 

while  peering  curiously  into  the  earth's  mysteries, 


MAGICIANS  AND  WITCH  FOLK        401 

chanced  to  have  his  eyes  gladdened  by  the  sight  of 
a  huge  chest  packed  with  Spanish  coins,  the  spoil, 
doubtless,  of  some  rich-freighted  argosy,  or  Cartha- 
gena  galleon,  in  the  rare  days  of  Queen  Elizabeth's 
Christian  buccaneers. 

During  the  last  quarter  of  a  century,  a  colored 
woman  in  one  of  the  villages  on  the  southern  bor 
der  of  New  Hampshire  has  been  consulted  by  hun 
dreds  of  anxious  inquirers  into  the  future.  Long 
experience  in  her  profession  has  given  her  some 
thing  of  that  ready  estimate  of  character,  that  quick 
and  keen  appreciation  of  the  capacity,  habits,  and 
wishes  of  her  visitors,  which  so  remarkably  distin 
guished  the  late  famous  Madame  Le  Normand,  of 
Paris ;  and  if  that  old  squalid  sorceress,  in  her 
cramped  Parisian  attic,  redolent  of  garlic  and  be 
strewn  with  the  greasy  implements  of  sorry  house 
wifery,  was,  as  has  been  affirmed,  consulted  by  such 
personages  as  the  fair  Josephine  Beauharnois,  and 
the  "  man  of  destiny,"  Napoleon  himself,  is  it 
strange  that  the  desire  to  lift  the  veil  of  the  great 
mystery  before  us  should  overcome  in  some  degree 
our  peculiar  and  most  republican  prejudice  against 
color,  and  reconcile  us  to  the  disagreeable  necessity 
of  looking  at  futurity  through  a  black  medium  ? 

Some  forty  years  ago,  on  the  banks  of  the  pleas 
ant  little  creek  separating  Berwick,  in  Maine,  from 
Somersworth,  in  New  Hampshire,  within  sight  of 
my  mother's  home,  dwelt  a  plain,  sedate  member 
of  the  society  of  Friends,  named  Bantum.  He 
passed  throughout  a  circle  of  several  miles  as  a 
conjurer  and  skilful  adept  in  the  art  of  magic. 
To  him  resorted  farmers  who  had  lost  their  cattle, 


402  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

matrons  whose  household  gear,  silver  spoons,  and 
table-linen  had  been  stolen,  or  young  maidens  whose 
lovers  were  absent ;  and  the  quiet,  meek-spirited  old 
man  received  them  all  kindly,  put  on  his  huge  iron- 
rimmed  spectacles,  opened  his  "  conjuring  book," 
which  my  mother  describes  as  a  large  clasped  vol 
ume  in  strange  language  and  black-letter  type,  and 
after  due  reflection  and  consideration  gave  the  re 
quired  answers  without  money  and  without  price. 
The  curious  old  volume  is  still  in  the  possession  of 
the  conjurer's  family.  Apparently  inconsistent  as 
was  this  practice  of  the  black  art  with  the  simpli 
city  and  truthfulness  of  his  religious  profession,  I 
have  not  been  able  to  learn  that  he  was  ever  sub 
jected  to  censure  on  account  of  it.  It  may  be  that 
our  modern  conjurer  defended  himself  on  grounds 
similar  to  those  assumed  by  the  celebrated  knight 
of  Nettesheim,  in  the  preface  to  his  first  Book  of 
Magic :  "  Some,"  says  he,  "  may  crie  oute  that  I 
teach  forbidden  arts,  sow  the  seed  of  heresies,  offend 
pious  ears,  and  scandalize  excellent  wits  ;  that  I  am 
a  sorcerer,  superstitious  and  devilish,  who  indeed 
am  a  magician.  To  whom  I  answer,  that  a  magi 
cian  doth  not  among  learned  men  signifie  a  sorcerer 
or  one  that  is  superstitious  or  devilish,  but  a  wise 
man,  a  priest,  a  prophet,  and  that  the  sibyls  proph 
esied  most  clearly  of  Christ ;  that  magicians,  as  wise 
men,  by  the  wonderful  secrets  of  the  world,  knew 
Christ  to  be  born,  and  came  to  worship  him,  first  of 
all ;  and  that  the  name  of  magicke  is  received  by 
philosophers,  commended  by  divines,  and  not  un 
acceptable  to  the  Gospel." 

The  study  of  astrology  and  occult  philosophy,  to 


MAGICIANS  AND  WITCH  FOLK       403 

which  many  of  the  finest  minds  of  the  Middle  Ages 
devoted  themselves  without  molestation  from  the 
Church,  was  never  practised  with  impunity  after 
the  Reformation.  The  Puritans  and  Presbyterians, 
taking  the  Bible  for  their  rule,  u  suffered  not  a 
witch  to  live ; "  and,  not  content  with  burning  the 
books  of  those  who  "  used  curious  arts "  after  the 
manner  of  the  Ephesians,  they  sacrificed  the  stu 
dents  themselves  on  the  same  pile.  Hence  we 
hear  little  of  learned  and  scientific  wizards  in  New 
England.  One  remarkable  character  of  this  kind 
seems,  however,  to  have  escaped  the  vigilance  of 
our  modern  Doctors  of  the  Mosaic  Law.  Dr.  Rob 
ert  Child  came  to  this  country  about  the  year  1644, 
and  took  up  his  residence  in  the  Massachusetts 
colony.  He  was  a  man  of  wealth,  and  owned  plan 
tations  at  Nashaway,  now  Lancaster,  and  at  Saco, 
in  Maine.  He  was  skilful  in  mineralogy  and  met 
allurgy,  and  seems  to  have  spent  a  good  deal  of 
money  in  searching  for  mines.  He  is  well  known 
as  the  author  of  the  first  decided  movement  for 
liberty  of  conscience  in  Massachusetts,  his  name 
standing  at  the  head  of  the  famous  petition  of 
1646  for  a  modification  of  the  laws  in  respect  to 
religious  worship,  and  complaining  in  strong  terms 
of  the  disfranchisement  of  persons  not  members  of 
the  Church.  A  tremendous  excitement  was  pro 
duced  by  this  remonstrance  ;  clergy  and  magistrates 
joined  in  denouncing  it ;  Dr.  Child  and  his  asso 
ciates  were  arrested,  tried  for  contempt  of  govern 
ment,  and  heavily  fined.  The  Court,  in  passing 
sentence,  assured  the  Doctor  that  his  crime  was 
only  equalled  by  that  of  Korah  and  his  troop,  who 


404  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

rebelled  against  Moses  and  Aaron.  He  resolved 
to  appeal  to  the  Parliament  of  England,  and  made 
arrangements  for  his  departure,  but  was  arrested, 
and  ordered  to  be  kept  a  prisoner  in  his  own  house 
until  the  vessel  in  which  he  was  to  sail  had  left 
Boston.  He  was  afterwards  imprisoned  for  a  con 
siderable  length  of  time,  and  on  his  release  found 
means  to  return  to  England.  The  Doctor's  trunks 
were  searched  by  the  Puritan  authorities  while  he 
was  in  prison  ;  but  it  does  not  appear  that  they  de 
tected  the  occult  studies  to  which  he  was  addicted, 
to  which  lucky  circumstance  it  is  doubtless  owing 
that  the  first  champion  of  religious  liberty  in  the 
New  World  was  not  hung  for  a  wizard. 

Dr.  Child  was  a  graduate  of  the  renowned  Univer 
sity  of  Padua,  and  had  travelled  extensively  in  the 
Old  World.  Probably,  like  Michael  Scott,  he  had 

"  Learned  the  art  of  glammarye 
In  Padua,  beyond  the  sea;  " 

for  I  find  in  the  dedication  of  an  English  transla 
tion  of  a  Continental  work  on  astrology  and  magic, 
printed  in  1651  "  at  the  sign  of  the  Three  Bibles," 
that  his  "  sublime  hermeticall  and  theomagicall 
lore  "  is  compared  to  that  of  Hermes  and  Agrippa. 
He  is  complimented  as  a  master  of  the  mysteries  of 
Rome  and  Germany,  and  as  one  who  had  pursued 
his  investigations  among  the  philosophers  of  the 
Old  World  and  the  Indians  of  the  New,  "  leaving 
no  stone  unturned,  the  turning  whereof  might  con 
duce  to  the  discovery  of  what  is  occult." 

There  was  still  another  member  of  the  Friends' 
society  in  Vermont,  of  the  name  of  Austin,  who,  in 
answer,  as  he  supposed,  to  prayer  and  a  long-cher- 


MAGICIANS  AND  WITCH  FOLK         405 

ished  desire  to  benefit  his  afflicted  fellow-creatures, 
received,  as  he  believed,  a  special  gift  of  healing. 
For  several  years  applicants  from  nearly  all  parts 
of  New  England  visited  him  with  the  story  of  their 
sufferings  and  praying  for  a  relief,  which,  it  is 
averred,  was  in  many  instances  really  obtained. 
Letters  from  the  sick  who  were  unable  to  visit 
him,  describing  their  diseases,  were  sent  him ;  and 
many  are  yet  living  who  believe  that  they  were 
restored  miraculously  at  the  precise  period  of  time 
when  Austin  was  engaged  in  reading  their  letters. 
One  of  my  uncles  was  commissioned  to  convey  to 
him  a  large  number  of  letters  from  sick  persons  in 
his  neighborhood.  He  found  the  old  man  sitting 
in  his  plain  parlor  in  the  simplest  garb  of  his  sect, 
—  grave,  thoughtful,  venerable,  —  a  drab  -  coated 
Prince  Hohenlohe.  He  received  the  letters  in 
silence,  read  them  slowly,  casting  them  one  after 
another  upon  a  large  pile  of  similar  epistles  in  a 
corner  of  the  apartment. 

Half  a  century  ago  nearly  every  neighborhood  in 
New  England  was  favored  with  one  or  more  reputed 
dealers  in  magic.  Twenty  years  later  there  were 
two  poor  old  sisters  who  used  to  frighten  school 
urchins  and  "  children  of  a  larger  growth  "  as  they 
rode  down  from  New  Hampshire  on  their  gaunt 
skeleton  horses,  strung  over  with  baskets  for  the 
Newburyport  market.  They  were  aware  of  the  pop 
ular  notion  concerning  them,  and  not  unfrequently 
took  advantage  of  it  to  levy  a  sort  of  black  mail 
upon  their  credulous  neighbors.  An  attendant  at 
the  funeral  of  one  of  these  sisters,  who  when  liv 
ing  was  about  as  unsubstantial  as  Ossian's  ghost, 


406  .  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

through  which  the  stars  were  visible,  told  me  that 
her  coffin  was  so  heavy  that  four  stout  men  could 
barely  lift  it. 

One  of  my  earliest  recollections  is  that  of  an  old 
woman,  residing  about  two  miles  from  the  place  of 
my  nativity,  who  for  many  years  had  borne  the  un 
enviable  reputation  of  a  witch.  She  certainly  had 
the  look  of  one,  —  a  combination  of  form,  voice, 
and  features  which  would  have  made  the  fortune 
of  an  English  witch  finder  in  the  days  of  Matthew 
Paris  or  the  Sir  John  Podgers  of  Dickens,  and  in 
sured  her  speedy  conviction  in  King  James's  High 
Court  of  Justiciary.  She  was  accused  of  divers 
ill-doings,  —  such  as  preventing  the  cream  in  her 
neighbor's  churn  from  becoming  butter,  and  snuff 
ing  out  candles  at  huskings  and  quilting-parties. 

"  She  roamed  the  country  far  and  near, 

Bewitched  the  children  of  the  peasants, 
Dried  up  the  cows,  and  lamed  the  deer, 

And  sucked  the  eggs,  and  killed  the  pheasants." 

The  poor  old  woman  was  at  length  so  sadly  an 
noyed  by  her  unfortunate  reputation  that  she  took 
the  trouble  to  go  before  a  justice  of  the  peace,  and 
made  solemn  oath  that  she  was  a  Christian  woman, 
and  no  witch. 

Not  many  years  since  a  sad-visaged,  middle-aged 
man  might  be  seen  in  the  streets  of  one  of  our  sea 
board  towns  at  times  suddenly  arrested  in  the 
midst  of  a  brisk  walk  and  fixed  motionless  for 
some  minutes  in  the  busy  thoroughfare.  No  effort 
could  induce  him  to  stir  until,  in  his  opinion,  the 
spell  was  removed  and  his  invisible  tormentor  suf 
fered  him  to  proceed.  He  explained  his  singular 


MAGICIANS  AND  WITCH  FOLK         407 

detention  as  the  act  of  a  whole  family  of  witches 
whom  he  had  unfortunately  offended  during  a  visit 
down  East.  It  was  rumored  that  the  offence  con 
sisted  in  breaking*  off  a  matrimonial  engagement 
with  the  youngest  member  of  the  family,  —  a  sor 
ceress,  perhaps,  in  more  than  one  sense  of  the 
word,  like  that  "  winsome  wench  and  walie  "  in 
Tarn  O'Shanter's  witch-dance  at  Kirk  Alloway. 
His  only  hope  was  that  he  should  outlive  his  per 
secutors  ;  and  it  is  said  that  at  the  very  hour  in 
which  the  event  took  place  he  exultingly  assured 
his  friends  that  the  spell  was  forever  broken,  and 
that  the  last  of  the  family  of  his  tormentors  was 
no  more. 

When  a  boy,  I  occasionally  met,  at  the  house  of 
a  relative  in  an  adjoining  town,  a  stout,  red-nosed 
old  farmer  of  the  neighborhood.  A  fine  tableau 
he  made  of  a  winter's  evening,  in  the  red  light  of 
a  birch-log  fire,  as  he  sat  for  hours  watching  its 
progress,  with  sleepy,  half-shut  eyes,  changing  his 
position  only  to  reach  the  cider-mug  on  the  shelf 
near  him.  Although  he  seldom  opened  his  lips  save 
to  assent  to  some  remark  of  his  host  or  to  answer 
a  direct  question,  yet  at  times,  when  the  cider-mug 
got  the  better  of  his  taciturnity,  he  would  amuse 
us  with  interesting  details  of  his  early  experiences 
in  "  the  Ohio  country." 

There  was,  however,  one  chapter  in  these  ex 
periences  which  he  usually  held  in  reserve,  and  with 
which  "  the  stranger  intermeddled  not."  He  was 
not  willing  to  run  the  risk  of  hearing  that  which  to 
him  was  a  frightful  reality  turned  into  ridicule  by 
scoffers  and  unbelievers.  The  substance  of  it,  as 


408  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

I  received  it  from  one  of  his  neighbors,  forms  as 
clever  a  tale  of  witchcraft  as  modern  times  have 
produced. 

It  seems  that  when  quite  a  young  man  he  left 
the  homestead,  and,  strolling  westward,  worked  his 
way  from  place  to  place  until  he  found  himself  in 
one  of  the  old  French  settlements  on  the  Ohio 
River.  Here  he  procured  employment  on  the  farm 
of  a  widow  ;  and  being  a  smart,  active  fellow,  and 
proving  highly  serviceable  in  his  department,  he 
rapidly  gained  favor  in  the  eyes  of  his  employer. 
Ere  long,  contrary  to  the  advice  of  the  neighbors, 
and  in  spite  of  somewhat  discouraging  hints  touch 
ing  certain  matrimonial  infelicities  experienced  by 
the  late  husband,  he  resolutely  stepped  into  the 
dead  man's  shoes :  the  mistress  became  the  wife, 
and  the  servant  was  legally  promoted  to  the  head 
of  the  household. 

For  a  time  matters  went  on  cosily  and  comforta 
bly  enough.  He  was  now  lord  of  the  soil ;  and,  as 
he  laid  in  his  crops  of  corn  and  potatoes,  salted 
down  his  pork,  and  piled  up  his  wood  for  winter's 
use,  he  naturally  enough  congratulated  himself 
upon  his  good  fortune  and  laughed  at  the  sinister 
forebodings  of  his  neighbors.  But  with  the  long 
winter  months  came  a  change  over  his  "  love's 
young  dream."  An  evil  and  mysterious  influence 
seemed  to  be  at  work  in  his  affairs.  Whatever  he 
did  after  consulting  his  wife  or  at  her  suggestion 
resulted  favorably  enough  ;  but  all  his  own  schemes 
and  projects  were  unaccountably  marred  and  de 
feated.  If  he  bought  a  horse,  it  was  sure  to  prove 
spavined  or  wind-broken.  His  cows  either  refused 


MAGICIANS   AND  WITCH  FOLK        409 

to  give  down  their  milk,  or,  giving  it,  perversely 
kicked  it  over.  A  fine  sow  which  he  had  bargained 
for  repaid  his  partiality  by  devouring,  like  Saturn, 
her  own  children.  By  degrees  a  dark  thought 
forced  its  way  into  his  mind.  Comparing  his  re 
peated  mischances  with  the  ante-nuptial  warnings 
of  his  neighbors,  he  at  last  came  to  the  melancholy 
conclusion  that  his  wife  was  a  witch.  The  victim 
in  Mother  well's  ballad  of  the  Demon  Lady,  or  the 
poor  fellow  in  the  Arabian  tale  who  discovered 
that  he  had  married  a  ghoul  in  the  guise  of  a  young 
and  blooming  princess,  was  scarcely  in  a  more  sor 
rowful  predicament.  He  grew  nervous  and  fretful. 
Old  dismal  nursery  stories  and  all  the  witch  lore 
of  boyhood  came  back  to  his  memory ;  and  he 
crept  to  his  bed  like  a  criminal  to  the  gallows, 
half  afraid  to  fall  asleep  lest  his  mysterious  com 
panion  should  take  a  fancy  to  transform  him  into 
a  horse,  get  him  shod  at  the  smithy,  and  ride  him 
to  a  witch-meeting.  And,  as  if  to  make  the  matter 
worse,  his  wife's  affection  seemed  to  increase  just 
in  proportion  as  his  troubles  thickened  upon  him. 
She  aggravated  him  with  all  manner  of  caresses 
and  endearments.  This  was  the  drop  too  much. 
The  poor  husband  recoiled  from  her  as  from  a 
waking  nightmare.  His  thoughts  turned  to  New 
England  ;  he  longed  to  see  once  more  the  old  home 
stead,  with  its  tall  well-sweep  and  butternut-trees 
by  the  roadside ;  and  he  sighed  amidst  the  rich 
bottom-lands  of  his  new  home  for  his  father's  rocky 
pasture,  with  its  crop  of  stinted  mulleins.  So  one 
cold  November  day,  finding  himself  out  of  sight 
and  hearing  of  his  wife,  he  summoned  courage  to 


410  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

attempt  an  escape,  and,  resolutely  turning  his  back 
on  the  West,  plunged  into  the  wilderness  towards 
the  sunrise.  After  a  long  and  hard  journey  he 
reached  his  birthplace,  and  was  kindly  welcomed 
by  his  old  friends.  Keeping  a  close  mouth  with 
respect  to  his  unlucky  adventure  in  Ohio,  he  soon 
after  married  one  of  his  schoolmates,  and,  by  dint 
of  persevering  industry  and  economy,  in  a  few 
years  found  himself  in  possession  of  a  comfortable 
home. 

But  his  evil  star  still  lingered  above  the  horizon. 
One  summer  evening,  on  returning  from  the  hay- 
field,  who  should  meet  him  but  his  witch  wife  from 
Ohio  !  She  came  riding  up  the  street  on  her  old 
white  horse,  with  a  pillion  behind  the  saddle.  Ac 
costing  him  in  a  kindly  tone,  yet  not  without  some 
thing  of  gentle  reproach  for  his  unhandsome  deser 
tion  of  her,  she  informed  him  that  she  had  come 
all  the  way  from  Ohio  to  take  him  back  again. 

It  was  in  vain  that  he  pleaded  his  later  engage 
ments  ;  it  was  in  vain  that  his  new  wife  raised  her 
shrillest  remonstrances,  not  unmingled  with  expres 
sions  of  vehement  indignation  at  the  revelation  of 
her  husband's  real  position ;  the  witch  wife  was 
inexorable ;  go  he  must,  and  that  speedily.  Fully 
impressed  with  a  belief  in  her  supernatural  power 
of  compelling  obedience,  and  perhaps  dreading 
more  than  witchcraft  itself  the  effects  of  the  un 
lucky  disclosure  on  the  temper  of  his  New  England 
helpmate,  he  made  a  virtue  of  the  necessity  of  the 
case,  bade  farewell  to  the  latter  amidst  a  perfect 
hurricane  of  reproaches,  and  mounted  the  white 
horse,  with  his  old  wife  on  the  pillion  behind  him. 


MAGICIANS  AND  WITCH  FOLK         411 

Of  that  ride  Burger  might  have  written  a  counter 
part  to  his  ballad  :  — 

"  Tramp,  tramp,  along  the  shore  they  ride, 
Splash,  splash,  along  the  sea." 

Two  or  three  years  had  passed  away,  bringing 
no  tidings  of  the  unfortunate  husband,  when  he 
once  more  made  his  appearance  in  his  native  vil 
lage.  He  was  not  disposed  to  be  very  communica 
tive  ;  but  for  one  thing,  at  least,  he  seemed  willing 
to  express  his  gratitude.  His  Ohio  wife,  having 
no  spell  against  intermittent  fever,  had  paid  the 
debt  of  nature,  and  had  left  him  free ;  in  view  of 
which,  his  surviving  wife,  after  manifesting  a  due 
degree  of  resentment,  consented  to  take  him  back 
to  her  bed  and  board ;  and  I  could  never  learn 
that  she  had  cause  to  regret  her  clemency. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL. 

*'  A  beautiful  form  is  better  than  a  beautiful  face  ;  a  beautiful 
behavior  is  better  than  a  beautiful  form  ;  it  gives  a  higher  pleas 
ure  than  statues  or  pictures  ;  it  is  the  finest  of  the  fine  arts." 

EMERSON'S  Essays,  Second  Series,  iv.,  p.  162. 

A  FEW  days  since  I  was  walking  with  a  friend, 
who,  unfortunately  for  himself,  seldom  meets  with 
anything  in  the  world  of  realities  worthy  of  com 
parison  with  the  ideal  of  his  fancy,  which,  like  the 
bird  in  the  Arabian  tale,  glides  perpetually  before 
him,  always  near  yet  never  overtaken.  He  was 
half  humorously,  half  seriously,  complaining  of  the 
lack  of  beauty  in  the  faces  and  forms  that  passed 
us  on  the  crowded  sidewalk.  Some  defect  was 
noticeable  in  all :  one  was  too  heavy,  another  too 
angular ;  here  a  nose  was  at  fault,  there  a  mouth 
put  a  set  of  otherwise  fine  features  out  of  counte 
nance;  the  fair  complexions  had  red  hair,  and 
glossy  black  locks  were  wasted  upon  dingy  ones. 
In  one  way  or  another  all  fell  below  his  impossible 
standard. 

The  beauty  which  my  friend  seemed  in  search 
of  was  that  of  proportion  and  coloring ;  mechani 
cal  exactness ;  a  due  combination  of  soft  curves 
and  obtuse  angles,  of  warm  carnation  and  marble 
purity.  Such  a  man,  for  aught  I  can  see,  might 
love  a  graven  image,  like  the  girl  of  Florence  who 
pined  into  a  shadow  for  the  Apollo  Belvidere,  look- 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  413 

ing  coldly  on  her  with  stony  eyes  from  his  niche  in 
the  Vatican.  One  thing  is  certain,  —  he  will  never 
find  his  faultless  piece  of  artistical  perfection  by 
searching  for  it  amidst  flesh-and-blood  realities. 
Nature  does  not,  as  far  as  I  can  perceive,  work 
with  square  and  compass,  or  lay  on  her  colors  by 
the  rules  of  royal  artists  or  the  dunces  of  the 
academies.  She  eschews  regular  outlines.  She 
does  not  shape  her  forms  by  a  common  model. 
Not  one  of  Eve's  numerous  progeny  in  all  respects 
resembles  her  who  first  culled  the  flowers  of  Eden. 
To  the  infinite  variety  and  picturesque  inequality 
of  Nature  we  owe  the  great  charm  of  her  uncloy- 
ing  beauty.  Look  at  her  primitive  woods ;  scat 
tered  trees,  with  moist  sward  and  bright  mosses  at 
their  roots ;  great  clumps  of  green  shadow,  where 
limb  intwists  with  limb  and  the  rustle  of  one  leaf 
stirs  a  hundred  others,  —  stretching  up  steep  hill 
sides,  flooding  with  green  beauty  the  valleys,  or 
arching  over  with  leaves  the  sharp  ravines,  every 
tree  and  shrub  unlike  its  neighbor  in  size  and  pro 
portion,  —  the  old  and  storm-broken  leaning  on 
the  young  and  vigorous,  —  intricate  and  confused, 
without  order  or  method.  Who  would  exchange 
this  for  artificial  French  gardens,  where  every  tree 
stands  stiff  and  regular,  clipped  and  trimmed  into 
unvarying  conformity,  like  so  many  grenadiers  un 
der  review?  Who  wants  eternal  sunshine  or 
shadow?  Who  would  fix  forever  the  loveliest 
cloudwork  of  an  autumn  sunset,  or  hang  over  him 
an  everlasting  moonlight  ?  If  the  stream  had  no 
quiet  eddying  place,  could  we  so  admire  its  cas 
cade  over  the  rocks?  Were  there  no  clouds. 


414  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

could  we  so  hail  the  sky  shining  through  them  in 
its  still,  calm  purity?  Who  shall  venture  to  ask 
our  kind  Mother  Nature  to  remove  from  our  sight 
any  one  of  her  forms  or  colors  ?  Who  shall  decide 
which  is  beautiful,  or  otherwise,  in  itself  consid 
ered? 

There  are  too  many,  like  my  fastidious  friend, 
who  go  through  the  world  "  from  Dan  to  Beer- 
sheba,  finding  all  barren,"  —  who  have  always 
some  fault  or  other  to  find  with  Nature  and  Provi 
dence,  seeming  to  consider  themselves  especially 
ill  used  because  the  one  does  not  always  coincide 
with  their  taste,  nor  the  other  with  their  narrow 
notions  of  personal  convenience.  In  one  of  his 
early  poems,  Coleridge  has  well  expressed  a  truth, 
which  is  not  the  less  important  because  it  is  not 
generally  admitted.  The  idea  is  briefly  this  :  that 
the  mind  gives  to  all  things  their  coloring,  their 
gloom,  or  gladness  ;  that  the  pleasure  we  derive 
from  external  nature  is  primarily  from  our 
selves  :  — 

"  from  the  mind  itself  must  issue  forth 
A  light,  a  glory,  a  fair  luminous  mist, 
Enveloping  the  earth." 

The  real  difficulty  of  these  lifelong  hunters  after 
the  beautiful  exists  in  their  own  spirits.  They  set 
up  certain  models  of  perfection  in  their  imagina 
tions,  and  then  go  about  the  world  in  the  vain  ex 
pectation  of  finding  them  actually  wrought  out 
according  to  pattern  ;  very  unreasonably  calculat 
ing  that  Nature  will  suspend  her  everlasting  laws 
for  the  purpose  of  creating  faultless  prodigies  for 
their  especial  gratification. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  415 

The  authors  of  Gayeties  and  Gravities  give  it 
as  their  opinion  that  no  object  of  sight  is  regarded 
by  us  as  a  simple  disconnected  form,  but  that  an 
instantaneous  reflection  as  to  its  history,  purpose, 
or  associations  converts  it  into  a  concrete  one,  —  a 
process,  they  shrewdly  remark,  which  no  thinking 
being  can  prevent,  and  which  can  only  be  avoided 
by  the  unmeaning  and  stolid  stare  of  "  a  goose  on 
the  common  or  a  cow  on  the  green."  The  senses 
and  the  faculties  of  the  understanding  are  so 
blended  with  and  dependent  upon  each  other  that 
not  one  of  them  can  exercise  its  office  alone  and 
without  the  modification  of  some  extrinsic  inter 
ference  or  suggestion.  Grateful  or  unpleasant 
associations  cluster  around  all  which  sense  takes 
cognizance  of ;  the  beauty  which  we  discern  in  an 
external  object  is  often  but  the  reflection  of  our 
own  minds. 

What  is  beauty,  after  all  ?  Ask  the  lover  who 
kneels  in  homage  to  one  who  has  no  attractions  for 
others.  The  cold  onlooker  wonders  that  he  can 
call  that  unclassic  combination  of  features  and  that 
awkward  form  beautiful.  Yet  so  it  is.  He  sees, 
like  Desdemona,  her  "  visage  in  her  mind,"  or  her 
affections.  A  light  from  within  shines  through 
the  external  uncomeliness,  —  softens,  irradiates, 
and  glorifies  it.  That  which  to  others  seems  com 
monplace  and  unworthy  of  note  is  to  him,  in  the 
words  of  Spenser,  — 

"  A  sweet,  attractive  kind  of  grace  ; 
A  full  assurance  given  by  looks  ; 
Continual  comfort  in  a  face  ; 

The  lineaments  of  Gospel  books." 


416  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

"  Handsome  is  that  handsome  does,  —  hold  up 
your  heads,  girls !  "  was  the  language  of  Primrose 
in  the  play  when  addressing  her  daughters.  The 
worthy  matron  was  right.  Would  that  all  my  fe 
male  readers  who  are  sorrowing  foolishly  because 
they  are  not  in  all  respects  like  Dubufe's  Eve,  or 
that  statue  of  the  Venus  "  which  enchants  the 
world,"  could  be  persuaded  to  listen  to  her.  What 
is  good  looking,  as  Horace  Smith  remarks,  but 
looking  good?  Be  good,  be  womanly,  be  gentle, 
—  generous  in  your  sympathies,  heedful  of  the 
well-being  of  all  around  you ;  and,  my  word  for  it, 
you  will  not  lack  kind  words  of  admiration.  Lov 
ing  and  pleasant  associations  will  gather  about 
you.  Never  mind  the  ugly  reflection  which  your 
glass  may  give  you.  That  mirror  has  no  heart. 
But  quite  another  picture  is  yours  on  the  retina  of 
human  sympathy.  There  the  beauty  of  holiness, 
of  purity,  of  that  inward  grace  which  passeth  show, 
rests  over  it,  softening  and  mellowing  its  features 
just  as  the  full  calm  moonlight  melts  those  of 
a  rough  landscape  into  harmonious  loveliness. 
"  Hold  up  your  heads,  girls  !  "  I  repeat  after  Prim 
rose.  Why  should  you  not  ?  Every  mother's 
daughter  of  you  can  be  beautiful.  You  can  en 
velop  yourselves  in  an  atmosphere  of  moral  and  in 
tellectual  beauty,  through  which  your  otherwise 
plain  faces  will  look  forth  like  those  of  angels. 
Beautiful  to  Ledyard,  stiffening  in  the  cold  of  a 
northern  winter,  seemed  the  diminutive,  smoke- 
stained  women  of  Lapland,  who  wrapped  him  in 
their  furs  and  ministered  to  his  necessities  with 
kindness  and  gentle  words  of  compassion.  Lovely 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  417 

to  the  homesick  heart  of  Park  seemed  the  dark 
maids  of  Sego,  as  they  sung  their  low  and  simple 
song  of  welcome  beside  his  bed,  and  sought  to  com 
fort  the  white  stranger,  who  had  "  no  mother  to 
bring  him  milk  and  no  wife  to  grind  him  corn." 
Oh,  talk  as  we  may  of  beauty  as  a  thing  to  be  chis 
elled  from  marble  or  wrought  out  on  canvas,  spec 
ulate  as  we  may  upon  its  colors  and  outlines,  what 
is  it  but  an  intellectual  abstraction,  after  all? 
The  heart  feels  a  beauty  of  another  kind ;  looking 
through  the  outward  environment,  it  discovers  a 
deeper  and  more  real  loveliness. 

This  was  well  understood  by  the  old  painters. 
In  their  pictures  of  Mary,  the  virgin  mother,  the 
beauty  which  melts  and  subdues  the  gazer  is  that 
of  the  soul  and  the  affections,  uniting  the  awe  and 
mystery  of  that  mother's  miraculous  allotment  with 
the  irrepressible  love,  the  unutterable  tenderness, 
of  young  maternity,  —  Heaven's  crowning  miracle 
with  Nature's  holiest  and  sweetest  instinct.  And 
their  pale  Magdalens,  holy  with  the  look  of  sins 
forgiven,  —  how  the  divine  beauty  of  their  peni 
tence  sinks  into  the  heart !  Do  we  not  feel  that 
the  only  real  deformity  is  sin,  and  that  goodness 
evermore  hallows  and  sanctifies  its  dwelling-place  ? 
When  the  soul  is  at  rest,  when  the  passions  and 
desires  are  all  attuned  to  the  divine  harmony,  — 

"  Spirits  moving  musically 
To  a  lute's  well-ordered  law,"  1 

do  we  not  read  the  placid  significance  thereof  in 
the  human  countenance ?  "I  have  seen,"  said 
Charles  Lamb,  "  faces  upon  which  the  dove  of 

1  The  Haunted  Palace,  by  Edgar  A.  Poe. 


418  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

peace  sat  brooding."  In  that  simple  and  beauti 
ful  record  of  a  holy  life,  the  Journal  of  John 
Woolman,  there  is  a  passage  of  which  I  have  been 
more  than  once  reminded  in  my  intercourse  with 
my  fellow-beings :  "  Some  glances  of  real  beauty 
may  be  seen  in  their  faces  who  dwell  in  true  meek 
ness.  There  is  a  harmony  in  the  sound  of  that 
voice  to  which  divine  love  gives  utterance." 

Quite  the  ugliest  face  I  ever  saw  was  that  of  a 
woman  whom  the  world  calls  beautiful.  Through 
its  "  silver  veil "  the  evil  and  ungentle  passions 
looked  out  hideous  and  hateful.  On  the  other 
hand,  there  are  faces  which  the  multitude  at  the 
first  glance  pronounce  homely,  unattractive,  and 
such  as  "Nature  fashions  by  the  gross,"  which  I 
always  recognize  with  a  warm  heart-thrill ;  not  for 
the  world  would  I  have  one  feature  changed ;  they 
please  me  as  they  are  ;  they  are  hallowed  by  kind 
memories ;  they  are  beautiful  through  their  associ 
ations  ;  nor  are  they  any  the  less  welcome  that  with 
my  admiration  of  them  "  the  stranger  intermeddleth 


THE  WORLD'S  END. 

"  Our  Father  Time  is  weak  and  gray, 
Awaiting  for  the  better  day ; 
See  how  idiot-like  he  stands, 
Fumbling  his  old  palsied  hands  !  " 

SHEUJEY'S  Masque  of  Anarchy. 

"  STAGE  ready,  gentlemen !  Stage  for  camp 
ground,  Derry  !  Second  Advent  camp-meeting  !  " 

Accustomed  as  I  begin  to  feel  to  the  ordinary 
sights  and  sounds  of  this  busy  city,  I  was,  I  con 
fess,  somewhat  startled  by  this  business-like  annun 
ciation  from  the  driver  of  a  stage,  who  stood  beside 
his  horses  swinging  his  whip  with  some  degree 
of  impatience  :  "  Seventy-five  cents  to  the  Second 
Advent  camp-ground  ! " 

The  stage  was  soon  filled ;  the  driver  cracked 
his  whip  and  went  rattling  down  the  street. 

The  Second  Advent,  —  the  coming  of  our  Lord 
in  person  upon  this  earth,  with  signs,  and  wonders, 
and  terrible  judgments,  —  the  heavens  rolling  to 
gether  as  a  scroll,  the  elements  melting  with  fer 
vent  heat !  The  mighty  consummation  of  all 
things  at  hand,  with  its  destruction  and  its  tri 
umphs,  sad  wailings  of  the  lost  and  rejoicing  songs 
of  the  glorified !  From  this  overswarming  hive  of 
industry,  —  from  these  crowded  treadmills  of  gain, 
—  here  were  men  and  women  going  out  in  solemn 
earnestness  to  prepare  for  the  dread  moment  which 


420  TALES   AND  SKETCHES 

they  verily  suppose  is  only  a  few  months  distant, 
—  to  lift  up  their  warning  voices  in  the  midst  of 
scoffers  and  doubters,  and  to  cry  aloud  to  blind 
priests  and  careless  churches,  "  Behold,  the  Bride 
groom  cometh !  " 

It  was  one  of  the  most  lovely  mornings  of  this 
loveliest  season  of  the  year ;  a  warm,  soft  atmos 
phere  ;  clear  sunshine  falling  on  the  city  spires 
and  roofs ;  the  hills  of  Dracut  quiet  and  green  in 
the  distance,  with  their  white  farm-houses  and  scat 
tered  trees  ;  around  me  the  continual  tread  of  foot 
steps  hurrying  to  the  toils  of  the  day  ;  merchants 
spreading  out  their  wares  for  the  eyes  of  purchas 
ers;  sounds  of  hammers,  the  sharp  clink  of  trow 
els,  the  murmur  of  the  great  manufactories  subdued 
by  distance.  How  was  it  possible,  in  the  midst  of 
so  much  life,  in  that  sunrise  light,  and  in  view  of 
all  abounding  beauty,  that  the  idea  of  the  death  of 
Nature  —  the  baptism  of  the  world  in  fire  —  could 
take  such  a  practical  shape  as  this?  Yet  here 
were  sober,  intelligent  men,  gentle  and  pious 
women,  who,  verily  believing  the  end  to  be  close 
at  hand,  had  left  their  counting-rooms,  and  work 
shops,  and  household  cares  to  publish  the  great 
tidings,  and  to  startle,  if  possible,  a  careless  and 
unbelieving  generation  into  preparation  for  the  day 
of  the  Lord  and  for  that  blessed  millennium,  — 
the  restored  paradise,  —  when,  renovated  and  re 
newed  by  its  fire-purgation,  the  earth  shall  become 
as  of  old  the  garden  of  the  Lord,  and  the  saints 
alone  shall  inherit  it. 

Very  serious  and  impressive  is  the  fact  that  this 
idea  of  a  radical  change  in  our  planet  is  not  only 


THE  WORLD'S  END  421 

predicted  in  the  Scriptures,  but  that  the  Earth  her 
self,  in  her  primitive  rocks  and  varying  formations, 
on  which  are  lithographed  the  history  of  succes 
sive  convulsions,  darkly  prophesies  of  others  to 
come.  The  old  poet  prophets,  all  the  world  over, 
have  sung  of  a  renovated  world.  A  vision  of  it 
haunted  the  contemplations  of  Plato.  It  is  seen 
in  the  half-inspired  speculations  of  the  old  Indian 
mystics.  The  Cumaean  sibyl  saw  it  in  her  trances. 
The  apostles  and  martyrs  of  our  faith  looked  for  it 
anxiously  and  hopefully.  Gray  anchorites  in  the 
deserts,  worn  pilgrims  to  the  holy  places  of  Jewish 
and  Christian  tradition,  prayed  for  its  coming.  It 
inspired  the  gorgeous  visions  of  the  early  fathers. 
In  every  age  since  the  Christian  era,  from  the 
caves,  and  forests,  and  secluded  "  upper  chambers  " 
of  the  times  of  the  first  missionaries  of  the  cross, 
from  the  Gothic  temples  of  the  Middle  Ages,  from 
the  bleak  mountain  gorges  of  the  Alps,  where  the 
hunted  heretics  put  up  their  expostulation,  "  How 
long,  O  Lord,  how  long  ?  "  down  to  the  present 
time,  and  from  this  Derry  camp-ground,  have  been 
uttered  the  prophecy  and  the  prayer  for  its  fulfil 
ment. 

How  this  great  idea  manifests  itself  in  the  lives 
of  the  enthusiasts  of  the  days  of  Cromwell ! 
Think  of  Sir  Henry  Vane,  cool,  sagacious  states 
man  as  he  was,  waiting  with  eagerness  for  the  fore- 
shado wings  of  the  millennium,  and  listening,  even 
in  the  very  council  hall,  for  the  blast  of  the  last 
trumpet !  Think  of  the  Fifth  Monarchy  Men, 
weary  with  waiting  for  the  long-desired  consumma 
tion,  rushing  out  with  drawn  swords  and  loaded 


422  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

matchlocks  into  the  streets  of  London  to  establish 
at  once  the  rule  of  King  Jesus !  Think  of  the 
wild  enthusiasts  at  Munster,  verily  imagining  that 
the  millennial  reign  had  commenced  in  their  mad 
city  !  Still  later,  think  of  Granville  Sharpe,  dili 
gently  laboring  in  his  vocation  of  philanthropy, 
laying  plans  for  the  slow  but  beneficent  ameliora 
tion  of  the  condition  of  his  country  and  the  world, 
and  at  the  same  time  maintaining,  with  the  zeal  of 
Father  Miller  himself,  that  the  earth  was  just  on 
the  point  of  combustion,  and  that  the  millennium 
would  render  all  his  benevolent  schemes  of  no  sort 
of  consequence  ! 

And,  after  all,  is  the  idea  itself  a  vain  one? 
Shall  to-morrow  be  as  to-day  ?  Shall  the  antag 
onism  of  good  and  evil  continue  as  heretofore  for 
ever  ?  Is  there  no  hope  that  this  world-wide 
prophecy  of  the  human  soul,  uttered  in  all  climes, 
in  all  times,  shall  yet  be  fulfilled  ?  Who  shall  say 
it  may  not  be  true  ?  Nay,  is  not  its  truth  proved 
by  its  universality  ?  The  hope  of  all  earnest  souls 
must  be  realized.  That  which,  through  a  dis 
torted  and  doubtful  medium,  shone  even  upon  the 
martyr  enthusiasts  of  the  French  revolution,  — 
soft  gleams  of  heaven's  light  rising  over  the  hell  of 
man's  passions  and  crimes,  —  the  glorious  ideal  of 
Shelley,  who,  atheist  as  he  was  through  early  pre 
judice  and  defective  education,  saw  the  horizon  of 
the  world's  future  kindling  with  the  light  of  a  bet 
ter  day,  —  that  hope  and  that  faith  which  consti 
tute,  as  it  were,  the  world's  life,  and  without  which 
it  would  be  dark  and  dead,  cannot  be  in  vain. 

I  do  not,  I  confess,  sympathize  with  my  Second 


THE  WORLD'S  END  423 

Advent  friends  in  their  lamentable  depreciation  of 
Mother  Earth  even  in  her  present  state.  I  find  it 
extremely  difficult  to  comprehend  how  it  is  that 
this  goodly,  green,  sunlit  home  of  ours  is  resting 
under  a  curse.  It  really  does  not  seem  to  me  to 
be  altogether  like  the  roll  which  the  angel  bore  in 
the  prophet's  vision,  "  written  within  and  without 
with  mourning,  lamentation,  and  woe."  Septem 
ber  sunsets,  changing  forests,  moonrise  and  cloud, 
sun  and  rain,  —  I  for  one  am  contented  with  them. 
They  fill  my  heart  with  a  sense  of  beauty.  I  see 
in  them  the  perfect  work  of  infinite  love  as  well  as 
wisdom.  It  may  be  that  our  Advent  friends,  how 
ever,  coincide  with  the  opinions  of  an  old  writer  on 
the  prophecies,  who  considered  the  hills  and  val 
leys  of  the  earth's  surface  and  its  changes  of  sea 
sons  as  so  many  visible  manifestations  of  God's 
curse,  and  that  in  the  millennium,  as  in  the  days 
of  Adam's  innocence,  all  these  picturesque  in 
equalities  would  be  levelled  nicely  away,  and  the 
flat  surface  laid  handsomely  down  to  grass ! 

As  might  be  expected,  the  effect  of  this  belief  in 
the  speedy  destruction  of  the  world  and  the  per 
sonal  coming  of  the  Messiah,  acting  upon  a  class  of 
uncultivated,  and,  in  some  cases,  gross  minds,  is 
not  always  in  keeping  with  the  enlightened  Chris 
tian's  ideal  of  the  better  day.  One  is  shocked  in 
reading  some  of  the  "  hymns  "  of  these  believers. 
Sensual  images,  —  semi-Mahometan  descriptions 
of  the  condition  of  the  "  saints,"  —  exultations 
over  the  destruction  of  the  "  sinners,"  —  mingle 
with  the  beautiful  and  soothing  promises  of  the 
prophets.  There  are  indeed  occasionally  to  be 


424  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

found  among  the  believers  men  of  refined  and  ex 
alted  spiritualism,  who  in  their  lives  and  conversa 
tion  remind  one  of  Tennyson's  Christian  knight- 
errant  in  his  yearning  towards  the  hope  set  before 
him:  — 

"to  me  is  given 
Such  hope  I  may  not  fear ; 
I  long  to  breathe  the  airs  of  heaven, 
Which  sometimes  meet  me  here. 

"  I  muse  on  joys  that  cannot  cease, 

Pure  spaces  filled  with  living  beams, 
White  lilies  of  eternal  peace, 

Whose  odors  haunt  my  dreams." 

One  of  the  most  ludicrous  examples  of  the  sen 
sual  phase  of  Millerism,  the  incongruous  blending 
of  the  sublime  with  the  ridiculous,  was  mentioned 
to  me  not  long  since.  A  fashionable  young  woman 
in  the  western  part  of  this  State  became  an  enthu 
siastic  believer  in  the  doctrine.  On  the  day  which 
had  been  designated  as  the  closing  one  of  time  she 
packed  all  her  fine  dresses  and  toilet  valuables  in 
a  large  trunk,  with  long  straps  attached  to  it,  and, 
seating  herself  upon  it,  buckled  the  straps  over  her 
shoulders,  patiently  awaiting  the  crisis,  —  shrewdly 
calculating  that,  as  she  must  herself  go  upwards, 
her  goods  and  chattels  would  of  necessity  follow. 

Three  or  four  years  ago,  on  my  way  eastward, 
I  spent  an  hour  or  two  at  a  camp-ground  of  the 
Second  Advent  in  East  Kingston.  The  spot  was 
well  chosen.  A  tall  growth  of  pine  and  hemlock 
threw  its  melancholy  shadow  over  the  multitude, 
who  were  arranged  upon  rough  seats  of  boards 
and  logs.  Several  hundred  —  perhaps  a  thousand 
people  —  were  present,  and  more  were  rapidly 


THE  WORLD'S  END  425 

coming.  Drawn  about  in  a  circle,  forming  a  back 
ground  of  snowy  whiteness  to  the  dark  masses  of 
men  and  foliage,  were  the  white  tents,  and  back  of 
them  the  provision-stalls  and  cook-shops.  When  I 
reached  the  ground,  a  hymn,  the  words  of  which  I 
could  not  distinguish,  was  pealing  through  the  dim 
aisles  of  the  forest.  I  could  readily  perceive  that 
it  had  its  effect  upon  the  multitude  before  me, 
kindling  to  higher  intensity  their  already  excited 
enthusiasm.  The  preachers  were  placed  in  a  rude 
pulpit  of  rough  boards,  carpeted  only  by  the  dead 
forest-leaves  and  flowers,  and  tasselled,  not  with 
silk  and  velvet,  but  with  the  green  boughs  of  the 
sombre  hemlocks  around  it.  One  of  them  followed 
the  music  in  an  earnest  exhortation  on  the  duty 
of  preparing  for  the  great  event.  Occasionally  he 
was  really  eloquent,  and  his  description  of  the  last 
day  had  the  ghastly  distinctness  of  Anelli's  paint 
ing  of  the  End  of  the  World. 

Suspended  from  the  front  of  the  rude  pulpit 
were  two  broad  sheets  of  canvas,  upon  one  of  which 
was  the  figure  of  a  man,  the  head  of  gold,  the  breast 
and  arms  of  silver,  the  belly  of  brass,  the  legs  of 
iron,  and  feet  of  clay,  —  the  dream  of  Nebuchad 
nezzar.  On  the  other  were  depicted  the  wonders 
of  the  Apocalyptic  vision,  —  the  beasts,  the  drag 
ons,  the  scarlet  woman  seen  by  the  seer  of  Patmos, 
Oriental  types,  figures,  and  mystic  symbols,  trans 
lated  into  staring  Yankee  realities,  and  exhibited 
like  the  beasts  of  a  travelling  menagerie.  One 
horrible  image,  with  its  hideous  heads  and  scaly 
caudal  extremity,  reminded  me  of  the  tremendous 
line  of  Milton,  who,  in  speaking  of  the  same  evil 
dragon,  describes  him  as 


426  TALES  AND   SKETCHES 

"  Swindling  the  scaly  horrors  of  his  folded  tail." 

To  an  imaginative  mind  the  scene  was  full  of 
novel  interest.  The  white  circle  of  tents ;  the  dim 
wood  arches  ;  the  upturned,  earnest  faces ;  the  loud 
voices  of  the  speakers,  burdened  with  the  awful 
symbolic  language  of  the  Bible ;  the  smoke  from 
the  fires,  rising  like  incense,  —  carried  me  back  to 
those  days  of  primitive  worship  which  tradition 
faintly  whispers  of,  when  on  hill-tops  and  in  the 
shade  of  old  woods  Religion  had  her  first  altars, 
with  every  man  for  her  priest  and  the  whole  uni 
verse  for  her  temple. 

Wisely  and  truthfully  has  Dr.  Channing  spoken 
of  this  doctrine  of  the  Second  Advent  in  his  mem 
orable  discourse  in  Berkshire  a  little  before  his 
death :  — 

"  There  are  some  among  us  at  the  present  mo 
ment  who  are  waiting  for  the  speedy  coming  of 
Christ.  They  expect,  before  another  year  closes, 
to  see  Him  in  the  clouds,  to  hear  His  voice,  to  stand 
before  His  judgment-seat.  These  illusions  spring 
from  misinterpretation  of  Scripture  language. 
Christ,  in  the  New  Testament,  is  said  to  come 
whenever  His  religion  breaks  out  in  new  glory  or 
gains  new  triumphs.  He  came  in  the  Holy  Spirit 
in  the  day  of  Pentecost.  He  came  in  the  destruc 
tion  of  Jerusalem,  which,  by  subverting  the  old 
ritual  law  and  breaking  the  power  of  the  worst 
enemies  of  His  religion,  insured  to  it  new  victories. 
He  came  in  the  reformation  of  the  Church.  He 
came  on  this  day  four  years  ago,  when,  through  His 
religion,  eight  hundred  thousand  men  were  raised 
from  the  lowest  degradation  to  the  rights,  and  dig- 


THE  WORLD'S  END  427 

nity,  and  fellowship  of  men.  Christ's  outward  ap 
pearance  is  of  little  moment  compared  with  the 
brighter  manifestation  of  His  spirit.  The  Christian, 
whose  inward  eyes  and  ears  are  touched  by  God, 
discerns  the  coming  of  Christ,  hears  the  sound  of 
His  chariot-wheels  and  the  voice  of  His  trumpet, 
when  no  other  perceives  them.  He  discerns  the 
Saviour's  advent  in  the  dawning  of  higher  truth  on 
the  world,  in  new  aspirations  of  the  Church  after 
perfection,  in  the  prostration  of  prejudice  and  error, 
in  brighter  expressions  of  Christian  love,  in  more 
enlightened  and  intense  consecration  of  the  Chris 
tian  to  the  cause  of  humanity,  freedom,  and  reli 
gion.  Christ  comes  in  the  conversion,  the  regener 
ation,  the  emancipation,  of  the  world." 


THE  HEROINE  OF  LONG  POINT. 

[1869.] 

LOOKING  at  the  Government  Chart  of  Lake 
Erie,  one  sees  the  outlines  of  a  long,  narrow  island, 
stretching  along  the  shore  of  Canada  West,  oppo 
site  the  point  where  London  District  pushes  its 
low,  wooded  wedge  into  the  lake.  This  is  Long 
Point  Island,  known  and  dreaded  by  the  naviga 
tors  of  the  inland  sea  which  batters  its  yielding 
shores,  and  tosses  into  fantastic  shapes  its  sand- 
heaps.  The  eastern  end  is  some  twenty  miles 
from  the  Canada  shore,  while  on  the  west  it  is  only 
separated  from  the  mainland  by  a  narrow  strait 
known  as  "  The  Cut."  It  is  a  sandy,  desolate  re 
gion,  broken  by  small  ponds,  with  dreary  tracts  of 
fenland,  its  ridges  covered  with  a  low  growth  of 
pine,  oak,  beech,  and  birch,  in  the  midst  of  which, 
in  its  season,  the  dogwood  puts  out  its  white  blos 
soms.  Wild  grapes  trail  over  the  sand-dunes  and 
festoon  the  dwarf  trees.  Here  and  there  are  al 
most  impenetrable  swamps,  thick-set  with  white 
cedars,  intertwisted  and  contorted  by  the  lake 
winds,  and  broken  by  the  weight  of  snow  and  ice 
in  winter.  Swans  and  wild  geese  paddle  in  the 
shallow,  reedy  bayous ;  raccoons  and  even  deer 
traverse  the  sparsely  wooded  ridges.  The  shores 
of  its  creeks  and  fens  are  tenanted  by  minks  and 


THE  HEROINE   OF  LONG  POINT       429 

muskrats.  The  tall  tower  of  a  light-house  rises 
at  the  eastern  extremity  of  the  island,  the  keeper 
of  which  is  now  its  solitary  inhabitant. 

Fourteen  years  ago,  another  individual  shared 
the  proprietorship  of  Long  Point.  This  was  John 
Becker,  who  dwrelt  on  the  south  side  of  the  island, 
near  its  westerly  termination,  in  a  miserable  board 
shanty  nestled  between  naked  sand-hills.  He  man 
aged  to  make  a  poor  living  by  trapping  and  spear 
ing  muskrats,  the  skins  of  which  he  sold  to  such 
boatmen  and  small-craft  skippers  as  chanced  to 
land  on  his  forlorn  territory.  His  wife,  a  large, 
mild-eyed,  patient  young  woman  of  some  twenty- 
six  years,  kept  her  hut  and  children  as  tidy  as  cir 
cumstances  admitted,  assisted  her  husband  in  pre 
paring  the  skins,  and  sometimes  accompanied  him 
on  his  trapping  excursions. 

On  that  lonely  coast,  seldom  visited  in  summer, 
and  wholly  cut  off  from  human  communication  in 
winter,  they  might  have  lived  and  died  with  as  little 
recognition  from  the  world  as  the  minks  and  wild 
fowl  with  whom  they  were  tenants  in  common,  but 
for  a  circumstance  which  called  into  exercise  un 
suspected  qualities  of  generous  courage  and  heroic 
self-sacrifice. 

The  dark,  stormy  close  of  November,  1854, 
found  many  vessels  on  Lake  Erie,  but  the  fortunes 
of  one  alone  have  special  interest  for  us.  About 
that  time  the  schooner  Conductor,  owned  by  John 
McLeod,  of  the  Provincial  Parliament,  a  resident 
of  Amherstburg,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Detroit  River, 
entered  the  lake  from  that  river,  bound  for  Port 


430  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

Dalliousie,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Welland  Canal. 
She  was  heavily  loaded  with  grain.  Her  crew  con 
sisted  of  Captain  Hackett,  a  Highlander  by  birth, 
and  a  skilful  and  experienced  navigator,  and  six 
sailors.  At  nightfall,  shortly  after  leaving  the 
head  of  the  lake,  one  of  those  terrific  storms,  with 
which  the  late  autumnal  navigators  of  that  "  Sea 
of  the  Woods  "  are  all  too  familiar,  overtook  them. 
The  weather  was  intensely  cold  for  the  season  ; 
the  air  was  filled  with  snow  and  sleet ;  the  chilled 
water  made  ice  rapidly,  encumbering  the  schooner, 
and  loading  down  her  decks  and  rigging.  As  the 
gale  increased,  the  tops  of  the  waves  were  shorn  off 
by  the  fierce  blasts,  clouding  the  whole  atmosphere 
with  frozen  spray,  or  what  the  sailors  call  "  spoon- 
drift,"  rendering  it  impossible  to  see  any  object  a 
few  rods  distant.  Driving  helplessly  before  the 
wind,  yet  in  the  direction  of  her  place  of  destina 
tion,  the  schooner  sped  through  the  darkness.  At 
last,  near  midnight,  running  closer  than  her  crew 
supposed  to  the  Canadian  shore,  she  struck  on  the 
outer  bar  off  Long  Point  Island,  beat  heavily  across 
it,  and  sunk  in  the  deeper  water  between  it  and 
the  inner  bar.  The  hull  was  entirely  submerged, 
the  waves  rolling  in  heavily,  and  dashing  over  the 
rigging,  to  which  the  crew  betook  themselves. 
Lashed  there,  numb  with  cold,  drenched  by  the 
pitiless  waves,  and  scourged  by  the  showers  of  sleet 
driven  before  the  wind,  they  waited  for  morning. 
The  slow,  dreadful  hours  wore  away,  and  at  length 
the  dubious  and  doubtful  gray  of  a  morning  of  tem 
pest  succeeded  to  the  utter  darkness  of  night. 

Abigail  Becker  chanced  at  that  time  to  be  in  her 


THE  HEROINE   OF  LONG  POINT       431 

hut  with  none  but  her  young  children.  Her  hus 
band  was  absent  on  the  Canada  shore,  and  she  was 
left  the  sole  adult  occupant  of  the  island,  save  the 
light-keeper,  at  its  lower  end,  some  fifteen  miles 
off.  Looking  out  at  daylight  on  the  beach  in 
front  of  her  door,  she  saw  the  shattered  boat  of  the 
Conductor,  cast  up  by  the  waves.  Her  experience 
of  storm  and  disaster  on  that  dangerous  coast 
needed  nothing  more  to  convince  her  that  some 
where  in  her  neighborhood  human  life  had  been, 
or  still  was,  in  peril.  She  followed  the  southwest 
erly  trend  of  the  island  for  a  little  distance,  and, 
peering  through  the  gloom  of  the  stormy  morning, 
discerned  the  spars  of  the  sunken  schooner,  with 
what  seemed  to  be  human  forms  clinging  to  the 
rigging.  The  heart  of  the  strong  woman  sunk 
within  her,  as  she  gazed  upon  those  helpless  fellow- 
creatures,  so  near,  yet  so  unapproachable.  She 
had  no  boat,  and  none  could  have  lived  on  that 
wild  water.  After  a  moment's  reflection  she  went 
back  to  her  dwelling,  put  the  smaller  children  in 
charge  of  the  eldest,  took  with  her  an  iron  kettle, 
tin  teapot,  and  matches,  and  returned  to  the  beach, 
at  the  nearest  point  to  the  vessel ;  and,  gathering 
up  the  logs  and  drift-wood  always  abundant  on  the 
coast,  kindled  a  great  fire,  and,  constantly  walking 
back  and  forth  between  it  and  the  water,  strove  to 
intimate  to  the  sufferers  that  they  were  at  least  not 
beyond  human  sympathy.  As  the  wrecked  sailors 
looked  shoreward,  and  saw,  through  the  thick  haze 
of  snow  and  sleet,  the  red  light  of  the  fire  and  the 
tall  figure  of  the  woman  passing  to  and  fro  before 
it,  a  faint  hope  took  the  place  of  the  utter  despair 


432  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

which  had  prompted  them  to  let  go  their  hold  and 
drop  into  the  seething  waters,  that  opened  and 
closed  about  them  like  the  jaws  of  death.  But  the 
day  wore  on,  bringing  no  abatement  of  the  storm 
that  tore  through  the  frail  spars,  and  clutched  at 
and  tossed  them  as  it  passed,  and  drenched  them 
with  ice-cold  spray,  —  a  pitiless,  unrelenting  horror 
of  sight,  sound,  and  touch  !  At  last  the  deepening 
gloom  told  them  that  night  was  approaching,  and 
night  under  such  circumstances  was  death. 

All  day  long  Abigail  Becker  had  fed  her  fire, 
and  sought  to  induce  the  sailors  by  signals  —  for 
even  her  strong  voice  could  not  reach  them  —  to 
throw  themselves  into  the  surf,  and  trust  to  Provi 
dence  and  her  for  succor.  In  anticipation  of  this, 
she  had  her  kettle  boiling  over  the  drift-wood,  and 
her  tea  ready  made  for  restoring  warmth  and  life 
to  the  half-frozen  survivors.  But  either  they  did 
not  understand  her,  or  the  chance  of  rescue  seemed 
too  small  to  induce  them  to  abandon  the  tempo 
rary  safety  of  the  wreck.  They  clung  to  it  with 
the  desperate  instinct  of  life  brought  face  to  face 
with  death.  Just  at  nightfall  there  was  a  slight 
break  in  the  west ;  a  red  light  glared  across  the 
thick  air,  as  if  for  one  instant  the  eye  of  the  storm 
looked  out  upon  the  ruin  it  had  wrought,  and 
closed  again  under  lids  of  cloud.  Taking  advan 
tage  of  this,  the  solitary  watcher  ashore  made  one 
more  effort.  She  waded  out  into  the  water,  every 
drop  of  which,  as  it  struck  the  beach,  became  a 
particle  of  ice,  and  stretching  out  and  drawing  in 
her  arms,  invited,  by  her  gestures,  the  sailors  to 
throw  themselves  into  the  waves,  and  strive  to  reach 


THE  HEROINE   OF  LONG  POINT       433 

her.  Captain  Hackett  understood  her.  He  called 
to  his  mate  in  the  rigging  of  the  other  mast :  "  It 
is  our  last  chance.  I  will  try !  If  I  live,  follow 
me  ;  if  I  drown,  stay  where  you  are !  "  With  a 
great  effort  he  got  off  his  stiffly  frozen  overcoat, 
paused  for  one  moment  in  silent  commendation  of 
his  soul  to  God,  and,  throwing  himself  into  the 
waves,  struck  out  for  the  shore.  Abigail  Becker, 
breast-deep  in  the  surf,  awaited  him.  He  was  al 
most  within  her  reach,  when  the  undertow  swept 
him  back.  By  a  mighty  exertion  she  caught  hold 
of  him,  bore  him  in  her  strong  arms  out  of  the 
water,  and,  laying  him  down  by  her  fire,  warmed 
his  chilled  blood  with  copious  draughts  of  hot  tea. 
The  mate,  who  had  watched  the  rescue,  now  fol 
lowed,  and  the  captain,  partially  restored,  insisted 
upon  aiding  him.  As  the  former  neared  the  shore, 
the  recoiling  water  baffled  him.  Captain  Hackett 
caught  hold  of  him,  but  the  undertow  swept  them 
both  away,  locked  in  each  other's  arms.  The 
brave  woman  plunged  after  them,  and,  with  the 
strength  of  a  giantess,  bore  them,  clinging  to  each 
other,  to  the  shore,  and  up  to  her  fire.  The  five 
sailors  followed  in  succession,  and  were  all  rescued 
in  the  same  way. 

A  few  days  after,  Captain  Hackett  and  his  crew 
were  taken  off  Long  Point  by  a  passing  vessel ; 
and  Abigail  Becker  resumed  her  simple  daily  du 
ties  without  dreaming  that  she  had  done  anything 
extraordinary  enough  to  win  for  her  the  world's 
notice.  In  her  struggle  every  day  for  food  and 
warmth  for  her  children,  she  had  no  leisure  for  the 
indulgence  of  self-congratulation.  Like  the  woman 


434  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

of  Scripture,  she  had  only  "  done  what  she  could," 
in  the  terrible  exigency  that  had  broken  the  dreary 
monotony  of  her  life. 

It  so  chanced,  however,  that  a  gentleman  from 
Buffalo,  E.  P.  Dorr,  who  had,  in  his  early  days, 
commanded  a  vessel  on  the  lake,  found  himself, 
shortly  after,  at  a  small  port  on  the  Canada  shore, 
not  far  from  Long  Point  Island.  Here  he  met  an 
old  shipmate,  Captain  Davis,  whose  vessel  had  gone 
ashore  at  a  more  favorable  point,  and  who  related 
to  him  the  circumstances  of  the  wreck  of  the  Con 
ductor.  Struck  by  the  account,  Captain  Dorr  pro 
cured  a  sleigh  and  drove  across  the  frozen  bay  to 
the  shanty  of  Abigail  Becker.  He  found  her  with 
her  six  children,  all  thinly  clad  and  barefooted  in 
the  bitter  cold.  She  stood  there  six  feet  or  more 
of  substantial  womanhood,  —  not  in  her  stockings, 
for  she  had  none,  —  a  veritable  daughter  of  Anak, 
broad-bosomed,  large-limbed,  with  great,  patient 
blue  eyes,  whose  very  smile  had  a  certain  pathos, 
as  if  one  saw  in  it  her  hard  and  weary  life-experi 
ence.  She  might  have  passed  for  an  amiable  gi 
antess,  or  one  of  those  much  -  developed  maids  of 
honor  who  tossed  Gulliver  from  hand  to  hand  in 
the  court  of  Brobdingnag.  The  thing  that  most 
surprised  her  visitor  was  the  childlike  simplicity  of 
the  woman,  her  utter  unconsciousness  of  deserving 
anything  for  an  action  that  seemed  to  her  merely 
a  matter  of  course.  When  he  expressed  his  admi 
ration  with  all  the  warmth  of  a  generous  nature, 
she  only  opened  her  wide  blue  eyes  still  wider  with 
astonishment. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  she   said,  slowly,  as  if 


THE  HEROINE   OF  LONG  POINT       435 

pondering  the  matter  for  the  first  time,  —  "I  don't 
know  as  I  did  more  'n  I  'd  ought  to,  nor  more  'n 
I  'd  do  again." 

Before  Captain  Dorr  left,  he  took  the  measure 
of  her  own  and  her  children's  feet,  and  on  his  re 
turn  to  Buffalo  sent  her  a  box  containing  shoes, 
stockings,  and  such  other  comfortable  articles  of 
clothing  as  they  most  needed.  He  published  a  brief 
account  of  his  visit  to  the  heroine  of  Long  Point, 
which  attracted  the  attention  of  some  members  of 
the  Provincial  Parliament,  and  through  their  exer 
tions  a  grant  of  one  hundred  acres  of  land,  on  the 
Canada  shore,  near  Port  Kowan,  was  made  to  her. 
Soon  after  she  was  invited  to  Buffalo,  where  she 
naturally  excited  much  interest.  A  generous  con 
tribution  of  one  thousand  dollars,  to  stock  her  farm, 
was  made  by  the  merchants,  ship-owners  and  mas 
ters  of  the  city,  and  she  returned  to  her  family  a 
grateful  and,  in  her  own  view,  a  rich  woman. 

When  the  story  of  her  adventure  reached  New 
York,  the  Life-Saving  Benevolent  Association  sent 
her  a  gold  medal  with  an  appropriate  inscription, 
and  a  request  that  she  would  send  back  a  receipt 
in  her  own  name.  As  she  did  not  know  how  to 
write,  Captain  Dorr  hit  upon  the  expedient  of  hav 
ing  her  photograph  taken  with  the  medal  in  her 
hand,  and  sent  that  in  lieu  of  her  autograph. 

In  a  recent  letter  dictated  at  Walsingham,  where 
Abigail  Becker  now  lives,  —  a  widow,  cultivating 
with  her  own  hands  her  little  farm  in  the  wilder 
ness,  —  she  speaks  gratefully  of  the  past  and  hope 
fully  of  the  future.  She  mentions  a  message  re 
ceived  from  Captain  Hackett,  who  she  feared  had 


436  TALES  AND  SKETCHES 

almost  forgotten  her,  that  he  was  about  to  make 
her  a  visit,  adding  with  a  touch  of  shrewdness : 
"  After  his  second  shipwreck  last  summer,  I  think 
likely  that  I  must  have  recurred  very  fresh  to  him." 
The  strong  lake  winds  now  blow  unchecked  over 
the  sand-hills  where  once  stood  the  board  shanty 
of  Abigail  Becker.  But  the  summer  tourist  of  the 
great  lakes,  who  remembers  her  story,  will  not  fail 
to  give  her  a  place  in  his  imagination  with  Perry's 
battle-line  and  the  Indian  heroines  of  Cooper  and 
Longfellow.  Through  her  the  desolate  island  of 
Long  Point  is  richly  dowered  with  the  interest 
which  a  brave  and  generous  action  gives  to  its 
locality. 


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